The Youngest Among Us
by Professor R.J Lupin1
Summary: "On the 150th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the youngest among them were killed in the Dark Days, all of the tributes sent into the Arena will be 12 years old." SYOT CLOSED, but readers are welcome. (1/24 Tributes Alive)
1. Tribute Submission Form

**So I know I have another SYOT going, too, and I'm not abandoning that, but I'm still waiting for tributes and I kind of want to have two going at the same time? Is that weird? Or is it just me?**

 **Anyway, here's a little blip about this Quarter Quell and then the tribute form will be after it!**

 **You'll find a list of the tributes available on my profile! And please submit through PM. Thanks!**

 **Happy tribute making!**

President Etta Snow, who was now in her thirties, dipped her hand into the box and produced an envelope that held this year's Quarter Quell twist.

She cleared her throat and spoke. "On the 150th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the youngest among them were killed in the Dark Days, all of the tributes sent into the Arena will be 12 years old."

 **Tribute Form:**

 **Name:**

 **District:**

 **Sex:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Backstory:**

 **Personality:**

 **Family and/or friends:**

 **Strengths:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Reaped or Volunteered:**

 **Reaction to Being Reaped or reason to volunteer:**

 **Token:**

 **Games Strategy:**

 **Will they make allies?**

 **Preferred Death:**

 **Anything else?**

 **I'm really excited to get going with this story, because I think this'll be an interesting one.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Professor R.J. Lupin1**


	2. District 1 Reaping - Only One Can Remain

**A/N: Thank you to Guest AnnaBanana for these amazing tributes!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 1 – District 1**

 **Coin Quinneton's POV**

"Good morning, Mom," I say, crossing the expansive living room. My mother, Velvet, is in the kitchens, making breakfast for my twin brother and I.

"Hello, Coin," she replies as I enter the kitchen. "How are you today?"

I shrug. "Okay, I guess. It is Reaping Day, after all."

At this moment, my father, Luxury, opens the back door. A warm draft of summer air washes over me, suddenly disappearing as the door closes.

Dad ruffles my blonde hair affectionately. "You're going to do fine, honey."

I shrug again. "Maybe." I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, admiring the silver tips. They sparkle and shine, just smallest bit of Capitol in my life.

While I've been thinking about my hair, my father has continued gushing about Cash and I's chances of winning the Games. After all, our older brother, Money, did win them a few years ago. Ever since, both Cash and me have been motivated to win the Games. However, there's always been an apprehension in both of us. Firstly, Cash has always had an aversion to killing, which is a bit of problem for a Career. Me, on the other hand? Well, it's something that my trainers at the Academy always hated: I'm too nice.

Maybe in six years, I won't be so nice. Maybe after six years of training, I would have hardened. Except I'll never get the chance to be more like a Career, because of this ridiculous Quell twist. In six years, maybe I would be more like a Career. However, I'm not now. Not at twelve years old.

And maybe in six years, Cash would have gotten over his fear of killing. Maybe in six years, we _would_ be victors. But right now? Right now, I don't like our chances.

Dad seems to have noticed my distress, and he looks directly into my blue eyes.

"Coin," he says. "You'll be up against a bunch of untrained twelve-year-old's. You've got better chances than almost all of them." He leans closer to my head and whispers in my ear, "And I like your chances better than Cash's."

I take a step back, surprised. "How?" I splutter. Yeah, he's worried about killing, but he'll get over that in the Games. Everyone kills when the time comes, including Cash. Including me. Including everyone who is about to be Reaped, all across Panem.

"I have to go get ready," I say suddenly, leaving the room in a flash. But before I can get to my room and actually get ready, my amazing brother, Money, Victor of the 94th Hunger Games, corners me.

"So, Coin," he says. "You and Cash are going to volunteer today."

"Uh, yeah," I say quietly. "But before I can do that, I have to get ready."

"I can't wait to have another Victor in the family," Money says. I wonder which one of us he's talking about. Which one does he want to win? He can only bring home one of us. "As you know, I'll be mentoring you and Cash."

I nod.

"And, I can only choose one of you to bring home."

Beat.

"And, I want to chose you."

Beat.

"Y-you do?" I say, confused. "B-but… Cash."

"When he's 18, maybe," Money says with a shrug. "But right now? He can't even think about killing. That's not what a Career should be like."

"I don't care if it's what a Career should be like!" I cry. "Cash… Cash deserves it more than me!"

"You know," Money says amicably. "Cash reacted the same way. Begging for me to save you, so I decided I would. You have better chances, anyway."

I huff and push past Money. Your average Career would be excited that their mentors were going to try and bring them home, but I'm not an average Career! I care about Cash more than I care about myself!

Still fuming, I begin to get ready the Reaping. I push the thought of having to volunteer from my mind as I put on a lilac dress. It's a bit tight on my athletic figure, but I don't mind.

I decide to put my hair up in a bun, my silver ends interspersed with the blonde. When I at last deem myself presentable, I leave the bathroom and nearly bowl Cash right over. I am almost an inch taller than him, and it has always bothered him. I don't mock him over it, though. I know what bothers him, and I don't want a repeat of the last time I made fun of him. I still have a scar from it.

"Hey, Coin," Cash says, brushing off the front of his pants. "Ready for the Reaping?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, extending a hand to help him up. He doesn't take it.

We go downstairs together. The rest of our family is gathered in the Living Room. Mother, Father, Money, and my final sibling, Dollar. Dollar has been bitter about everything after coming second to volunteer. He's bitter toward us, too, seeing as we were chosen to volunteer and we're only twelve.

He doesn't say anything as we leave our home in the Victors' Village, even though the rest of us are talking. He's past Reaping age, of course, and is seething over not going into the Games. Actually, I think he's kind of lucky. But at the same time, I want to win. However, we already have one Victor, and sometimes Money has nightmares about the Arena. It makes me more than a little apprehensive.

All too soon, we have arrived at the Square. Cash and I get our fingers pricked as our family disappear to the viewing area. Cash doesn't go anything as he goes to stand with the boys, and I don't either. I see Money go up on stage to sit with all of our other Victors. Pride swells in my chest at the thought of sitting up with them next year.

Our District escort, Clementina Pollacki, who is dressed in the stunning color of vomit green this year, flounces up to the stage and taps the microphone.

"Hello, District 1!" she cries. "Who's ready for another Hunger Games?"

The crowd goes wild, as always in 1. I, on the other hand, don't make a sound.

The video about the Dark Days plays, and I mouth the words along with it.

 _This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future._

Clementina claps her hands excitedly and shimmies over to the girls' ball. "Ladies first," she says. She dips a hand in and considers multiple slips, even though she has to know that someone (me) will volunteer for whoever she chooses. Just hurry up already!

At last, she picks a name. "Ahem," she says, tapping the microphone again. "Sapphire Walters."

Before the girl can even react, I step forward. "I volunteer as tribute." There's no hesitation in my voice.

 **Cash Quinneton's POV**

I watch as Coin approaches the stage, a steely, determined look on her face. I just have to hope it won't come down to us. I won't be able to kill her. Well, I won't be able to kill anyone. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

"And what is your name?" Clementina, the ridiculous cow, asks sweetly.

"Coin Quinneton," my sister says confidently.

"Wonderful!" Clementina exclaims. "Now, for the boys."

She picks another name, much quicker than last time. "Silver Moon."

"I volunteer as tribute," I say firmly, already making my way to the stage.

"And you are?" Clementina asks, holding the microphone to my mouth.

"Cash Quinneton," I say, smirking.

Clementina glances between us for a moment. "Are you two related?"

"Oh, yes," Coin says. "We are twins. But I'm older."

I glare at her.

Clementina titters and says, "Twins! Wonderful!" She tells us to shake hands. "Your tribute from District 1, Coin Quinneton and Cash Quinneton!"

And then, we are swept into the Justice Building for goodbyes.

My first visitors are, of course, my family. Dollar hangs back, giving me a quick hug before retreating back to the corner.

Mother and Father assure me of my chances, of my abilities, that they're rooting for me, even though I don't need them to tell it to me. I have confidence in my abilities, too.

Money doesn't have to say goodbye, seeing as he is one of our mentors. He is here, though. "I'm proud of you, Cash," he says. He presses a small coin into the palm of my hand. "Your token."

I shove it in my pants pocket with a firm nod. And then they're all taken away by Peacekeepers, and I find myself missing them already. No matter. I'll see them again soon.

Then, all of my friends enter the room. Rich, Amber, Juniper, and Alexandra. They all congratulate me, hug me, tell me just how much I'm going to win, and I can't help but take their reassurances to heart. But all too soon, the Peacekeepers come to take them away, too.

When I am at last reunited with Coin, there is tension between us.

We are no longer siblings. We are enemies.

 **A/N: Aww, killing these guys is going to be so hard!**

 **I'll see you when I've got my tributes from District 2!**


	3. District 2 Reaping - Cold Satisfaction

**A/N: So I meant to have this out a week ago but I didn't… so, um, sorry.**

 **Thank you to 20 for these amazing tributes!**

 **WARNING: THERE IS IMPLIED CHILD RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER. IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, YOU CAN PM ME FOR A SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER.**

 **Chapter 2 – District 2 Reaping**

 **Wake Hammerfort's POV**

This time of year, the Career Academy in 2 is awash with excitement. Last minute training for the chosen volunteers, angry workouts for those who will go home empty-handed in a few weeks, new recruits arriving at all hours.

But this year is different—this year, all those eighteen-year-olds who were anxiously awaiting their chance in the Games will be robbed of the satisfaction. Instead, I will be going into the Games. I got confirmation two months ago, but I never needed confirmation, and neither did anyone else. I've known I would go into the Games since I started at the Academy.

I started the Academy to get away from my situation at home: just two years after my little brother, Wonder, was born, my mother married a man from the Capitol. I always hated the man, and to make matters worse, my mother abandoned us. She went out to get some groceries and simply never came back.

And then I started hearing noises; in the middle of the night, the horrible Capitol man would enter Wonder's bedroom, and there would be noises. I hated listening to my brother like that, but there was nothing I could do.

By that point, the Capitol man, who's name is Yoldan, began to suspect that I was trying to stop him. So he sent me to the Career Academy. I think he planned for m to either go into the Games and die or just never come back.

When I first was dropped at the Academy, I felt betrayed. Soon, however, that feeling morphed into bitterness and hatred. I put my soul into my training, telling myself that when I won the Games, mother would come crawling back to me, and I could get rid of Yoldan forever. Wonder would finally be safe, and no one could ever touch him again.

And I'm being given my chance six years earlier than I thought I would. Six years less that Wonder would have to suffer.

Did it ever occur to me that I may die in the Games and there would be no one to protect Wonder? Of course it did. So I just won't die. It's as simple as that. No one is as motivated to succeed as I am, and that will bring me home. More importantly, that will dispel Yoldan from my life. At last, Wonder will be safe.

My alarm blares to life beside me, but I am already awake. I slam my hand onto button and climb out of bed. My feet meet the cold, wooden floor of my dormitory. The sensation of wood against sockless feet used to bother me. Now? Now, it's just another thing I wish I could get rid of.

Quickly, I dress, pulling my brown hair up into a high ponytail. Today, instead of wearing our normal Academy uniforms, which are good for fighting and training in, we have to dress up for the Reaping. I may be only twelve, but I grew out of dresses long ago.

The dress is plain, but there is a pin on it. Is it supposed to be my token? Angrily, I take off the pin and throw it across the room. It makes a dent in the wall, and I smirk in satisfaction. Careers don't take tokens. At least, I don't.

The halls of the Career Academy are as bland as my dress. Aside from the place everyone aspires to be one day: the Wall of Victors. It's in the main entrance of the building, and has a picture every Victor this Academy has ever produced. And trust me, that's a lot.

There are other students here, too, but I pay them no attention. They are not worth my time. And besides, they don't care about me, anyway. When I win the Games, they'll all come begging to be my friend. And when I win the Games, I can continue to hate them.

I walk with confident steps, which is more than I've seen in previous volunteers. District 2 hasn't had a Victor in almost five years, and all of the chosen volunteers seem to get a little nervous.

I can't empathize with them. I'm going up against a bunch of twelve-year-old's who've never even held a sword. I'll be fine. I always am.

No one talks while we eat breakfast. It's strange, to sit in absolute silence. I am used to others yelling and talking. Perhaps they are all bitter because they don't get to go into the Games. Well, guess what? Life isn't so bad for you, so suck it up. What I wouldn't give to live a life like yours'.

It's quiet as we go to the Reaping, too. It's odd. Everyone should be excited. This is District 2, after all.

My finger gets pricked, but I don't even feel the pain. Some of the little twelve-year-old's I've seen on T.V. in the other districts, bursting into tears just at the slightest little pinprick… this year is going to be so easy. I'll be home before anyone can even understand what happened.

All around me, are strangers. Faceless people that don't matter in the grand scheme of things. They never have, and they never will.

Our district escort, Penelope Jewls, walks up to the stage and greets us. I tune out immediately to the non-sensical babbling of the Capitol idiot. When at last, the true Reaping begins, I am reaching the end of my patience.

She makes a big show of choosing a name from the girls' bowl, even though I will volunteer and undo all her hard work.

"Anastasia Rio!"

The girl, a big, stocky girl with blonde hair, makes her way to the stage.

I push through the people in front of me. "I volunteer as tribute."

Anastasia turns and her eyes fill with rage. She charges, but I easily evade her attacks and walk to the stage. But Anastasia doesn't stop. She tackles me and starts pummeling my face with her beefy fists. At last, I am able to throw the girl's enormous weight off my body, kicking her nose for good measure. Next time, I won't be so lenient.

I walk to the stage as if I didn't just attack some poor twelve-year-old. Just showing the others who they're up against. A little foretaste of what's to come.

Penelope asks for my name.

"Wake Hammerfort," I say calmly.

Penelope clears her throat nervously and says, "Now, for the boys."

 **Myrian Cardiff's POV**

The Academy is always quiet this early in the morning, and that is exactly the way I like it. No one training, no one talking, just me. The version of me who isn't all about the Games.

But the Games have always been there, laying in wait to snatch me up and force me to face reality. The reality in which I will flourish, but not in the way I want.

When I win the Games, and I live in the Victors' Village without my parents constantly breathing down my neck, I won't have to search for a talent like so many Victors before me. I will be an artist, and I will at last be able to put the Games behind me and do what I want to.

Slowly, I get out of bed, cherishing the silence that rings through the halls, for soon the others will be up and the corridors will be alight with noise. My nostrils flare at the thought.

I dress slowly. The clothing we're given to wear to the Reaping aren't the nicest outfits in the world, especially considering that I am going to the Capitol in these clothes. They're bland and completely void of color, a stark contrast to many things here in 2

Just as I am about to leave my dormitory, a piece of paper on the ground catches my eye. I pick it up.

 _We are saddened to inform you that you have not been chosen to compete in the Hunger Games this year. You may reapply when you turn 18._

It doesn't matter to me if I wasn't chosen or not. I'm going to volunteer whether they like it or not.

I shake my head violently. No. I'm not going to die. I'm not a failure like the other tributes before me. I have made sure of it.

As I shut my door for what may be the last time, alarms all over go off. The cacophony of sound makes me clench my fists. There goes my silence.

I head to the mess hall and eat in silence. I always get my food before everyone else; it gives me a good chance to think.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I really do want to win. Death would be quiet… but I would be so much happier as a Victor. Which is exactly what I will be.

Other students start streaming into the room, silent, for once. I stay at my table, enjoying the lack of noise. Once I volunteer, all that silence will be gone for good. I will be the highlight of the Games, and will go down in history as one of the best Victors ever. The Victor of a Quarter Quell, the youngest Victor in history. Exactly what I was meant to be.

As we set out for the Reaping, I think about all the naïve little twelve-year-old's I will get to decimate this year. They don't know what they are in for.

I always saw myself as a bit of pacifist. However, pacifists don't live long in the Hunger Games. It's kill or be killed, and I will always be the former, no matter what I want. The Games aren't about what I want.

Our ridiculous escort, Penelope Jewls, is a joke here in 2. No one can take her seriously, and nothing she does helps her case.

She choses a girl named Anastasia Rio, and I don't pay attention until a girl volunteers for her. They get into a bit of a fist fight, with the volunteer eventually coming out on top. I hope that's not what I have to do to get into the Games.

"And… and what might your name be, dear?" Penelope asks.

"Wake Hammerfort," the girl says. Ah.

"And now for the boys." Penelope crosses the stage and plucks up a name. "Blakeson Whitley." The boy looks about thirteen.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell, hoping to overpower the voice of the actual chosen volunteer.

There are gasps all around as I stalk to the stage. I can hear whispers, passed from person to person.

"He's not the volunteer."

"Who is that?"

"Why did he volunteer?"

I manage to shut out all the mutterings and step up to the stage.

"What is your name?" Penelope asks sweetly.

"Myrian Cardiff," I say distractedly, searching the crowds. My parents are out there somewhere. I want to see their faces.

I shake hands with Wake; it feels like she's trying to rip my arm from my shoulder. And then they whisk us away into the Justice Building for goodbyes.

 **Wake Hammerfort's POV**

The first person who comes is Wonder. There are tears, drenching his cheeks. He sobs. He begs me to come home. I promise I will, I will come home, I will save him.

"It's okay, Wonder," I say softly. "I'll come home. I'll save you from Yoldan." All he does is nod.

And then the Peacekeepers drag him away.

Next is Jilda, my girlfriend. "I can't believe you actually went through with it."

I shake my head. "You know I had to. What choice did I have? It's either the Games or Wonder keeps suffering."

"But what if you don't win?" Jilda asks. "What then?"

"I won't," I state simply. "I have to save Wonder."

"I'll look after him," Jilda promises. "I'll… I'll do something. Anything. I promise."

I let out a breath. "Thanks."

"Um… don't die, okay?" She pauses. "I don't know what I would do without you."

I nod sharply. And then she's gone.

 **Myrian Cardiff's POV**

I get one visitor. I can't say I expected any more. My parents wouldn't have anything to say to me, all the other Careers either don't like me, don't know me, or don't care enough to come. It's fine by me.

A girl named Gilda comes. She tells me to be safe. She tells me I'll come home. She tells me that when I do, I have to tell her everything about my Games. I promise half-heartedly.

The Peacekeepers come to take her away, and I am left wondering why she even bothered to come.

 **A/N: Wow. This was a long one. At least by my standards, anyway.**

 **Hopefully, I'll have District 3 out in a couple of days, seeing as I have both of the tributes for that one.**


	4. District 3 Reaping - The Hopeless One

**A/N: Thanks to TeamShadow for Jaz and IciclePower33 for Bennett!  
Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 3 – District 3 Reaping**

 **Jaz Tammel's POV**

"It's okay, Jazzy," Dad says. He squeezes my hands tight. "You're not going to be picked."

"But w-what if I am, Dad?" I whisper, tears welling in my eyes and threatening to spill. "What then?"

"You have the ability to win, Jaz," Dad assures me.

I pull my hands from his grip and turn around. "N-no, I don't."

"It's not going to be you, Jazzy."

I wish I could accept Dad's assurances and move on. But I can't. I just have this feeling. Like I'm falling down an enormous hole and no matter what I do, I will never hit the bottom but I can't see the top. It's infuriating. I'm supposed to always know the answer—at least, that's what the kids at school think.

Everyone in District 3 is smart—except I'm smarter. The kids at my school nicknamed me 'the walking thesaurus'. I could never tell if it was insult or a compliment.

I stalk up the stairs and away from my father. Our house isn't the nicest thing I've ever seen—but it's certainly not some of the dumps on the outside of town. The shacks with broken windows and two rooms and no usable toilet. Trust me; I would know. My best (and only) friend, Cam, lives in one of those houses. She has tons of siblings and she often gets lost in the fray. Dad kind of accepted her as his own daughter.

My room is rather small, but it has a desk and bed. That's all I need. A place to work and a place to sleep. The closet is open, and my Reaping outfit hangs on the rack with my other clothes. The dress is light purple and I suppose compliments my black hair. I've never really been good at fashion. I leave that to the other girls. Nonetheless, I put it on defeatedly.

As I survey myself in the mirror, I gently push my glasses up my nose. Just another thing I have to be self-conscious about; I tick the things off on my fingers. Stutter, glasses, social skills (or lack thereof). The list never ends.

When I at last deem myself presentable, I head back downstairs. This is my first Reaping, and my chances are upped by about one hundred percent. I didn't do the math, but why would I want to?

Dad is sitting at the table, drinking something out of a mug. I know he would like coffee—so would I—but we can't afford it. Only the richest, most successful scientists get coffee. That's what I want to be when I grow up: a successful scientist, forever praised by the Capitol.

Dad and I leave the house in silence, joining the crowd of families moving toward the square. Two of us will never come home—it's sickening.

When I was little, I didn't understand the Hunger Games. I didn't know why those kids left, why they would kill each other. I always asked my parents (my mom was still alive at this time) why they tried to hurt each other. Why didn't they just lay down their weapons and refuse to fight? And they would always reply, sadly, that the Capitol won't let them do that. The Capitol would start choosing people to blow up.

I would cry, after that. Why did the Capitol have to be so mean? They would tell us, in school, about the rebellion that led to the institution of the Games. The Capitol didn't care about us, and I knew it even back then. The Games were just there to keep us in line. To show us 'Hey, look, we can take your kids and force them to fight to the death!'.

Back then, I would tell my parents that I would refuse to play in the Games if I was Reaped. They told me 'it doesn't work that way'. Later, I decided I wanted to die in the bloodbath if I went into the Games.

I get my finger pricked and they direct me forward. Normally, there are sections for each age, but now, it's just gender. I find Cam and stand beside her. We don't say anything as our district escort, Alenius Babbage saunters up to the stage. I don't understand where he gets him optimism. We haven't had a Victor from 3 in over eleven years. Twenty-two of us dead, and that's just in the past eleven years. Just in our district, there have been over 300 of our children killed in Games, if you don't count the Victors. Not that we get many of them, either.

Alenius greets a highly unenthusiastic district and shows the video, obviously disgruntled. That's right. He was 1's escort last year and was moved to 3 for some top secret reason.

"Let's choose our female tribute, shall we?" he asks the crowd. He takes forever to choose a name from the Reaping bowl, and by the time he returns to the podium, I'm practically biting my nails off with anxiety.

He clears his throat dramatically and says, "Jaz Tammel!"

The words don't register at first—it takes a moment before it hits me. That's _my_ name. He just said _my_ name.

That's when the aforementioned tears start falling. They stream fast and quick, drenching my cheeks within seconds. A hot river, pouring from my eyes and wetting the collar of my dress.

 _Seconds._

The moment my name came from Alenius's mouth, I was dead. I have already died. I'm just dragging it on, now. In just a few seconds, my entire life was thrown off a cliff. Maybe I could run—maybe when they catch me, they'll kill me and choose someone else. It would quicker, easier. A bullet to the brain and then—nothing. Silence. That would be nice.

I grab Cam's hand like it's a lifeline… and it is. But the Peacekeepers shove her back in their haste to bring me to the stage. I find myself yelling her name.

"Cam!" I scream. "Cam! Help!"

But there is nothing she can do. There is nothing anyone can do.

I am already dead.

 **Bennett Weiss's POV**

 _Boom!_ I lean forward, watching the bomb go off. Smoke and debris fill the air, and I breath in the scent. Suddenly, everything freezes in place. I groan.

"Dad! I found a glitch!" I shout, taking off the headset and placing it on the table. The screen remains frozen around me, and soon my father appears to look into it.

"Oh," Dad says annoyedly. "I thought we fixed this glitch." He looks up. "You should go get ready for the Reaping." I can't miss the edge of nervousness in his voice.

I roll my eyes unhappily and leave Dad's study. 'Study' is the formal term. Mom likes to call it Dad's mess. It's filled with half-finished video games, prototypes, plans, weeks-old mugs of coffee, and posters of games Dad has developed. Normally, I'm not allowed in there. Unless Dad wants me to test a game. Those are the best days.

See, in 3, we don't usually get to use what we make. It all goes to Capitol for their enjoyment. However, Dad wants someone to test his products without having to pay them to, so he enlists me. I've been doing it for years, and it's my favorite part of the day.

Mom doesn't approve, and probably never will, but that doesn't stop either of us.

This will be my first Reaping—everyone's first Reaping, actually. Personally, I think this Quarter Quell is absolutely ridiculous. As if it wasn't bad enough that twelve-year-olds could be sent in during a normal Games, now all of them have to be. I am not looking forward to watching this year's Games.

I head down the hall as my dad yells, "Damnit!" I shake my head, wondering what other problem he found.

My room is big and filled with prototype games Dad has let me keep over the years. There's a T.V. to play them on, of course, and most of them don't have any blaring glitches. A few do, though, so I don't use them much.

I get dressed into my Reaping clothes without much thought. I look up into the mirror and back to the comb my mom set out.

I never brush my hair. I constantly look like I just got out of bed, and I don't exactly mind. My hair kind of looks like I just dipped my head in a bucket of black paint. It's that dark.

When if first started school, I thought I wouldn't get teased because everyone else would be a nerd, too. This wasn't the case.

Other kids' favorite thing to tease me about was my eyebrows. They would ask if someone attacked me was scissors or if it was intentional. Those bullies led me to become a bit of a recluse and shut out the world.

I can already see people leaving for the square, and I know we have to get going. I head downstairs and find my mother seated at the kitchen table. She has a glass of something—looks like orange juice—and a piece of toast. We don't bread much in 3, despite my dad's success, and so we have to savor it when we get the chance.

"We should leave," I say.

She nods. "I'll go get Freud."

Five minutes later we set out for the square. I start wondering who will get reaped this year. I used to hope the bullies from school would eventually get sent into the Games so I could back to school, but I don't want that anymore. Besides, the Games are a fate worse than death. I wouldn't wish it upon my greatest enemy.

Alenius Babbage struts out onto the stage and says, "Hello, District 3!" He seems to expect applause or excitement. District 1's reaction must be hardwired into his brain. Instead, no one moves.

His face is put out, but he plows on. The video about the rebellion begins, but I pay no attention. I've seen it before. Everyone has. It's nothing new.

"Let's choose our female tribute, shall we?" Alenius makes a big show of picking out a name. "Jaz Tammel!"

I remember that girl. We were in the same class in kindergarten. That's too bad. She seemed nice, back then, anyway. I heard her mom died since then.

The peacekeepers drag her, crying to the stage. She sways where she stands, tears continuing to drench her cheeks.

Alenius plucks a name from the boys' ball and returns to the podium with a spring in his step. "Ahem," he says. "Bennett Weiss!"

My eyes bulge to the size of saucers. He… he didn't say… he didn't say my name, did he?

He did.

Tears immediately start spilling down my cheeks. I feel numb. As frozen as Dad's game.

The other kids have parted around me, and I force myself to continue breathing. A peacekeeper comes up behind me and nudges me forward. I stumble, surprised, and push myself toward the stage. When I at last reach Alenius and Jaz, the world is pivoting around me. It's like the entire earth has fallen off its axis and is now rolling around the solar system.

My… my parents. What is Dad going to do without a game tester? What is Mom going to do without me around the house? If—no, when—I die, will they cry? Will they mourn? I'm sure they will…

I shake hands with Jaz, and I could swear she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. But one moment it's there, then it's gone. So quick I can't tell if it was real.

They practically drag me into the Justice Building. I'm put into an ornate room for goodbyes. Not a moment later, my parents burst into the room, my mother's face soaked with tears.

They envelope me in a bone-crushing hug. Mom sobs.

"Be smarter than them, Ben," Dad says, his hands on my shoulders. "You may not be able to best them with your fists, but you can surely get them all with your head. I don't care how, you have to come home. Please," he adds, his voice cracking.

"I… I will," I promise, forcing myself not to think about how empty that promise really is. I think we both know I'm not coming home.

"You have to come home to me, Benny," Mom sobs. I nearly roll my eyes at the nickname. She hasn't called me that since I was four. "You have to. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

I don't have the heart to deny her, so I nod. Mom presses something cold and metallic into my hand and then she and Dad are gone. I open my palm and see a tarnished little locket in my hand. I open the clasp and find a picture of Dad and I. Happy. Safe. Not dead.

I sigh and let the Peacekeepers escort me to the car.

 **Jaz Tammel's POV**

Dad bursts through the door, tears wetting his face. He pulls me into a hug. How long we stayed like that, I will never know. At last, I say, "Keep caring for Cam. When I'm gone, don't stop caring for Cam. You have to promise me."

Dad doesn't even deny that I will die. The last little bit of hope in my heart flutters away and disintegrates. "Stay alive for as long as you can, Jazzy."

"I'll try," I say simply. He hands me a little wire necklace. _Mom's_ little wire necklace. I sniffle and put it around my neck.

And then he's gone. I will never see my father again. "I love you!" I yell.

And I will never know if he heard me.

 **A/N: Aww, poor Jaz. Poor Bennett. Poor everyone.**


	5. District 4 Reaping - Reaped and Annoyed

**A/N: Thank you to TeamShadow for Ariella and AnnaBanana for Brookley!**

 **P.S., when I was reading Brookley's submission, I was laughing like a maniac.**

 **Enjoy**

 **Chapter 4 – District 4 Reaping**

 **Ariella Winters's POV**

"Where the hell are my shoes?" my sister, Stella, yells. I stifle my laugh. My tightens around Stella's shoes. I cover my mouth with hands, unable to stop myself from snickering.

"Ariella, you brat!" Stella cries. "Give me back my shoes!" I take off running toward the stairs. My legs pound against the old wood as I charge up the steps and toward the window. It's been broken for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I would climb out onto the roof and watch the stars. Now, I use it to get away.

I've always been able to crawl out the window easily. I'm short and skinny so I fit nicely.

Stella, on the other hand? She's big, strong, and muscular from all the training she does for the Games. I've done some, but I'm not nearly as invested as she is. I guess I just don't care enough.

I crawl out onto the roof and run across the uneven shingles. I don't stumble, never have, and probably never will. I take the shoes and set them on the edge, halfway on and halfway off, threatening to teeter right off the roof.

Stella's face appears in the window. I burst out laughing. "Ariella! Give me back my shoes!"

"Okay," I say, feigning admission. Stella breathes and audible sigh of relief. "Just kidding!" I yell and throw the shoes as far as I can. Our house is right on the beach, since our dad is a fisherman, and both shoes land with a _plop!_ in the water, sinking toward the ocean floor.

Stella's face reddens with rage. I decide I should stay up here for a good while.

I can hear her footsteps pounding away, and a few moments later she appears outside the house. I watch her search the water, and I wonder why she doesn't just go get her other pair of shoes. As far as I can tell, they're identical, provided to her by the Career Academy. Maybe she just wants to prove me wrong somehow. Or maybe she just forgot those other shoes exist. I'm leaning toward the latter.

Stella may be strong and capable, but she's certainly not very smart. Although not a lot of people in 4 are. We have a lot of hot guys and not a lot of smart guys. I'm not really interested in dating. I'm not really interested in anything anymore. My apathy meter is just too high for me to care.

Stella at last locates her shoes and disappears back inside the house, but not before showing me her favorite finger. I lay back against the shingles, laughing. Nothing Stella does fazes me anymore. I used to be eternally hurt when she would even insinuate that she didn't like me, but now? Now, she could try to murder me and I would laugh and act like I don't care.

"Ariella!" my mother calls from inside the house.

"She's on the roof," I hear Stella say disdainfully, her voice muffled. I snort.

A few moments later, my mother's head sticks out of the window. "Ariella, it's time to get ready for the Reaping."

I roll my eyes but grudgingly come down.

Mom has set out a dress (it doesn't fit me right, and I can tell Stella wore it, at least once) but I digress. It doesn't matter what I wear for the Reaping. It's not like anyone is going to notice me. The attention is always on the Reaped.

I leave the house without my family. I'll see them again in, like, twenty minutes once the Reaping is over. There is literally no point that I can see to walking with them to the square.

I approach the square within a few minutes and get my finger pricked. As I make my way into the girl section, I catch a glimpse of a girl from my school in tears. I resist the temptation to yell at her to suck it up. It's not like they've even chosen anyone yet.

A group of girls whispering nervously scatter as I approach. I'm not sure if it's because I've trained for the Games a little or if I'm just generally intimidating. Personally, I think it's the latter.

It's true I've done a little bit for the Games, but I'm nearly as invested as Stella is. Stella eats, breathes, sleeps, and lives the Games. Me, on the other hand? I prefer to ignore the Games and hope they go away.

Kids keep streaming into the square like a river. Steady and fast—but most rivers don't have this many tears. I mean, come on, suck it up, people. Only two of you will be picked, and you all have equal chance of _not_ being picked.

Cadmus Pretsbell, the District 4 escort, sashays out onto stage. He takes being 4's escort very seriously—his entire body is dyed sea-green, and he wears ocean- and fish-themed clothing year round. We all hate him.

"Good morning, District 4!" He bows eccentrically. "Let's get this Reaping going, shall we?" His proclamation is met by general cheers; 4 is considered a Career district, but not many of the possible tributes are prepared. Maybe a few boys who have been training since they were five.

I around at the square until the video is finished and Cadmus goes to pick the female tribute. His green hand dips into the ball and sifts around for a while before he finally chooses a paper.

"Ariella Winters!"

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. That's my name. He just said my name. Huh. That's… annoying. Irritating.

My face is stone as I walk to the stage. I take my sweet time getting there, making sure everyone can tell just how much I don't care. I don't care about the Games. I don't care about their time. I don't care about being courteous.

When I finally get to the stage, Cadmus smiles happily and plows on. "Alright, now, let's choose our male tribute!"

 **Brookley Lepplings's POV**

The Career Academies in 4 are only part-time. I spend my afternoons there, after school, preparing to go into the Games one day.

Except that I was chosen to go in this year.

I freaked out, like, a lot, when they told me, but ever since, I've gotten used to the idea of being a tribute—no, Victor. I'm going to be a Victor.

Anyone can _say_ they'll be a Victor, but it takes a real man to _become_ one. Which is exactly what I am.

And everyone agrees with me.

When I wake up, the morning of the Reaping, I reach across the bed in hopes of Aquilis beside me, but I am robbed of his warmth. He must have been having a bad dream. Or maybe I just woke up late. That is usually the case.

"Wake up!" My sister, Dariya, says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, I'm getting that way," I moan, rolling over.

"Come on, Brook, the Reapings are in an hour."

That has me up and going. I dress quickly, completely underestimating the amount of time it will take me to remove all the sand from my hair (Mom insisted). When I finish at last, I survey myself in the mirror. Sandy blonde hair, that is, for once, completely void of sand and sea water, that curls every which way, doing its own thing. I like doing my own thing, too, hair.

I deem myself presentable and vacate the bathroom, much to Dariya's pleasure. "What were you doing in there?" she asks annoyedly. "Powdering your nose?"

I snort but don't reply. She brushes past me and into the bathroom.

See, Dariya is only eleven, but acts like she's about eighteen. Maybe she's just in a hurry to not be eligible for the Reapings. Personally, I can't understand where she's coming from. I've been preparing for the Games since I was, like, seven.

Admittedly, that's only five years, but I was supposed to have six more, but you get what you get. And besides, all of my opponents will be twelve, too. Easier to get rid of them if they're naïve, sniveling children than murderous, near-adults.

Aqua comes up behind me and says, "You're hair looks weird dry."

Aqua is only nine—however, he has started training for the Games, much to Mom's chagrin. She agreed to have me start training young, but to exempt her other children from it until they are older. But if you don't start training young, you don't get sent into the Games.

I don't answer him, instead going to greet my last sibling: Sereina. She's almost ten months old, and I am very protective of her. If someone so much as looks at her wrong, I'll give them a piece of my mind. Fist, too.

I lift her from her makeshift crib and into my arms. I'm actually missing my left ring finger—it was amputated after I jumped off the roof on a dare a few years back. It was a few months after I started training, and I had to postpone my training for almost six months while my injury healed up.

Sereina giggles and babbles aimlessly. I smile and say, "Hi, Sereina."

I set her back down in the crib as Mom calls, "Everyone, it's time to go!" She rushes over and gathers Sereina up in her arms.

I take one last look around our house. The next time I'm in 4, Aqua and I won't have to share a bed. Sereina will get a real crib. I won't have to train every day. I can just go have fun.

We leave the house together, all as one family. We pass the fountain of the Victors, which has the name of every Victor from District 4 we've ever has engraved on its base. Soon, my name with be on there, too. Soon.

The square is packed with people, and I bid my family goodbye. I get my finger pricked and head to the boys' section.

Cadmus Pretsbell steps out onto the stage, his green skin shimmering like the ocean. I wrinkle my nose as the sight of it.

He chooses a name from the girls' ball. Ariella Winters. I remember her from training. She started just this year, and from what I know, isn't the most skilled but not terrible, either. She walks to the stage, taking her time. When she finally reaches the stage, Cadmus goes to pick our male tribute. It doesn't really matter who it is—I'll just volunteer for them.

"Oceanus Penson," Cadmus says.

"I volunteer as tribute," I step forward and toward the stage. Cadmus's eyes bulge excitedly as I head to the stage. As I pass a crowd of girls, I wink at them. They all collapse against each other, giggling like mad.

Ariella and I shake hands and they drag us off into the Justice Building.

My first visitors are my family. They all expected it, knew it, but that doesn't stop my mom from crying. I promise Dariya I will come home, explain to Aqua that there is a chance that I won't, and at last I have Sereina.

"It's okay, Sereina," I whisper, holding her. "I've got to go away now. I'm going to the big, bright city. Don't worry, though, I'll be back. I love you." Then the Peacekeepers took them all away. I look down at my token: a ring with each of my family's birthstones embedded in it.

All of my friends come in, now. Lanie, Ara, Sheldon and Sander. Lanie is the one who dared me to jump off the roof. There are a lot of hugs, a couple of tears, and tons of reassurances.

And then they are gone, too.

 **Ariella Winter's POV**

Mom does a lot of crying when my family comes in. Dad keeps telling me not to give up, that I have the skills to win, and that I'm coming home.

Stella, on the other hand, is extremely jealous of me. I'm going into the Games and she isn't! How terrible… what ever will she do?

The Peacekeepers take them away, and then Jake comes in. He is my only friend and teases me a lot. I don't really mind, even though I pretend to be irritated by it.

"You've got this, Ari," Jake says, his hands on my shoulder. "You are going to win."

"Maybe," I say, shrugging. He places a small, white pearl into my hand. Then he's gone.

I can't help but wonder: Will I ever see him again?

 **A/N: Aww, I love these guys so much! Brookley is so much fun, and Ariella is just amazing!**


	6. District 5 Reaping - Unpaid Debts

**A/N: Thanks to LordShiro for Wren and AnnaBanana for Kiran!**

 **Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 5 – District 5 Reaping**

 **Wren Willodean's POV**

"What? You scared, little girl?"

I raise my fists menacingly; I'm not afraid to play.

I know I'm not supposed to get into fistfights, not after that time I got hurt so bad I had to go to the hospital. My parents could hardly pay for the bills—we're still in debt.

And besides, the entire district is crawling with Peacekeepers. It is Reaping Day, after all. But we're in the part of town the Peacekeepers hate coming into: drunks stumble all over the place, getting into violent, stupid fights, gangs roam the streets in search of an easy mark, and sometimes, people just up and disappear while on their way through the area. Even if the Peacekeepers were to come through the area, they'd be way too preoccupied dealing with all the drunkards and drug sealers to worry about a couple of kids getting into a fight.

Declan, the large, ugly boy who looks thoroughly pissed (courtesy of yours truly) begins to charge at me. I easily dodge his attack, my small stature coming in handy for once. Nonetheless, Declan recovers quickly and comes at me again. This time, his fist hits its mark.

The impact sends me stumbling a bit, but I regain my footing and go in to get him back. My fist connects with his shoulder, and Declan yelps. Whether in pain or surprise, I couldn't tell you.

The enormous boy cradles his shoulder for a moment before continuing his fight. I sidestep his attack and kick the back of his knee. _Hard._ _ard. Hard._ He buckles, pitching forward and into the dirt.

His head appears to have hit a rock rather hard: he moans and groans, and I can see a trickle of blood at his temple.

Suddenly, a door behind us bursts open.

"Get out of here!" a raspy voice yells from the doorway. A dirty, malnourished woman stands on porch, a ratty broom in her hand. I can hear the voices of several children inside the house. (if you can call it that.) "Go! Scat!"

I scamper away. Better not tempt fate. A few streets away, I slow my gait to a walk.

An image of Declan's face, bruised and slightly bloody pushes it way to the forefront of my mind. I physically shake the thought away, turning my head like a dog trying to rid their fur of water. My short, coal black hair whips around my face.

It doesn't matter. I'll be out of here in a couple of hours. On my way to the Capitol. And in two weeks, I'll either be dead or a Victor. I'm leaning toward the latter.

See, I'm planning to volunteer for the Games. There's not just one cause… there's a whole host of reasons for me to volunteer.

Firstly, I kind of feel like I have to.

Don't take that the wrong way: I don't want to die, or something. But after all those bills we got from the hospital, I feel indebted to my parents. I mean, I honestly am, but if I win the Games, we won't have any debt anymore. We will never be hungry, we would never have debt ever again. No one would dare to get into a fight with me, after they see what I can do given the proper weapons.

Well, that's the only problem. I've never really fought with anyone but my fists and knives. I can't throw particularly well, and against Careers, I don't think I'd stand much of a chance. However, if I'm against a bunch of not-even-teenagers, I think I've pretty much got this in the bag. And if I don't? Well, it's one last mouth to feed.

I can already see some kids heading for the Reaping, and I quicken my pace. It's not that I need ages to get ready—I just don't want to volunteer without being dressed up. Also, it might be against the law. No one has ever been brave enough to test that theory, though.

Our house is nothing special—one floor of ramshackle home. I share a bed with my older brother, Corrin. The night the Quell twist was announced, he started crying. He's fourteen, and was only thinking about how he really dodged a bullet there. I mean, who cares about their sibling that _is_ of Reaping age?

Before I even open the door, I can hear my seven-year-old brother, Ant, yelling something. I shake my head, a ghost of a smile on my lips. I lightly push my glasses up my nose and go inside.

Ant nearly tackles me as I enter the house. "Wren!" he yells, his face so close to mine that I can see his missing teeth. "Mom said you should have been here, like, ages ago! She said the Reaping starts in, like, two minutes!"

"Okay, Ant," I say reassuringly, pushing him off me. "I'll go get ready, then."

Quickly, I grab the dress Mom laid out for me and dash into the bathroom. I survey my appearance in the mirror and tug the sleeve down to cover my steadily-forming bruise. There. Now no one will know I got into a fist fight again.

I leave the bathroom and sit on the ground beside my father. He's been paralyzed from the neck down for ages after an accident in a power plant. That's another reason I have to volunteer: Dad could get the best treatment out there and wouldn't have to worry about the cost. His wheelchair could get fixed—or better yet, he could get a brand new one—and wouldn't be as house-bound as he is now.

I used to wonder what it would be like to be unable to move—I don't, not anymore. I do think about how unhappy Dad is; he's been depressed for years, and we don't have the money for treatment. We don't have the money for a lot of things.

Corrin taps me on the shoulder, his eyes saying, _it's time to go_. See, I told him about my plans to volunteer a couple of days ago, and made his swear not to tell a soul. Besides, nothing he can say would sway me. And it's not like anyone can stop me. It's my choice. It's my obligation.

I stand up, pat Dad on the shoulder and follow Corrin to the door. Corrin picks Ant up and we join the crowds leaving for the Reaping. I lose sight of Mom and Dad, but I can hear the wheelchair squeaking. I'll make sure to get the most quiet chair I can once I win.

I get my finger pricked and bid Corrin goodbye. He and Ant head off to the viewing area.

The District 5 escort, Pippa Pellos, shimmies onto the stage with her ridiculous hot pink outfit shimmering in the sun. The video plays, and then the Reaping really begins.

Pippa plucks a name from the girls' bowl. "Peren Bell!" she says into the mic. My eyes search for the girl and find her at last, shaking and sobbing. She's tiny and looks less like a twelve-year-old and more like a nine-year-old.

I take a deep breath and step forward. "I volunteer as tribute," I say as calmly as I can muster.

Pippa's pink face contorts into a grin and she says, "Wonderful! Come on up, then!" There's a hint of confusion in her voice.

I reach the stage and she holds the microphone to my face. "And what is your name, dear?"

"Wren Willodean," I say confidently.

 **Kiran Comaydos's POV**

"When is Mommy coming home?"

The sadness in Della's voice is so heartbreaking—no seven-year-old should have to feel like that. And so I muster up the best smile I can and say, "Soon. Remember what the doctor said yesterday? She'll be home soon."

"The doctor said she can't do _anything_ ," Wyatt, my nine-year-old brother, moans. "She won't be able to give us kisses goodnight or play with us or hug us anymore!"

I sigh. "I know, guys. Everything will be alright, I promise."

That seems to satisfy them. They run off to do Panem-knows-what, giggling like maniacs. I wish I was as young and carefree as they are—but I could potentially go into the Hunger Games today. How would I ever explain that to my siblings? Della and Wyatt: they're so naïve and innocent. All of that would be lost if they were forced to watch my potentially bloody death on national television.

And right after the accident, too—I wouldn't allow it. See, just two months ago, our parents went to work. But they didn't come back for days. When my father returned at last, Mom wasn't with him. She had been caught in a fire in a storage room and been severely burned. How badly, I didn't know at the time. Dad didn't want to scare Wyatt and Della.

Later, he told me that it wasn't looking good. The doctors were afraid they would be unable to save her—but they did. She has terrible burns on her arm and mild ones on her leg, but she was alive. And then yesterday, we got more news. Mom could come home, but she wouldn't able to do a thing for herself. Della didn't really understand, but Wyatt did. He knew that Mom wouldn't be the same. That things wouldn't be the same once she came home.

However, that did nothing to sway his excitement. But today is Reaping Day, and for me, it's not a reason to celebrate. On any other day of the year, I would be just as happy as my siblings—and trying not to think about all the debt we'd be in for all those hospital bills. My family isn't poor: on the contrary, actually. My parents own one of the biggest companies in 5, and we make good money. Still, that's a hell of a lot of money to repay. Not just treatment bills. After all, she spent two months in hospital, too. I'm scared we won't be able to pay it all off.

But once we get the Reaping over and done with, Wyatt, Della and I are going to the hospital to take Mom home with us. Dad's there now. He told me earlier that he'll meet us at the Reaping.

Speaking of which, it's nearly time to leave, and I really should get ready. I head off to get dressed. I quickly run a comb through my brown hair and round up my siblings. Just as we are about to leave, I realize I'm not wearing my glasses. Those things are the bane of my existence.

Since the Reaping is the only holiday we celebrate (although it's not much of a cause for celebration) everyone tries to enjoy it. We get time off work, after all. That's a reason to party in itself. We are all exhausted of working in the plants. It's hot, dangerous, and pays like making lava lamps does. It doesn't. Barely, at least.

I get my finger pricked and send my siblings off to the viewing area. As I head to the boys' space, they meet up with Dad. Good.

Pippa Pellos comes onto the stage and the video starts. I tune out easily, like everyone else. We practically have it memorized by now, anyway.

Pippa chooses some girl called Peren Bell. But then the real shock happens—someone _volunteers_ for her. And there's clearly no correlation between the two. That girl—Wren Willodean— _wants_ to be in the Games.

I'm in so much shock that I don't notice the name of the boy tribute. Until everyone starts looking at me. I freeze. Someone whispers in my ear, "That's you, isn't it?"

Pippa smiles serenely at me, clearly more interested in her volunteer. I stiffen, terrified. The Peacekeepers get closer, but I start walking. The stage seems to keep getting further and further away. But suddenly, I'm there.

I shake hands with Wren, and she looks like she wants to bite my head off. And then the Justice Building doors shut. They take me into a room for goodbyes and I sit on a couch, wondering just how many tears have been shed here.

Wyatt is the first to reach me. He wraps his arms around my neck, crying, hugging me like he never wants to let go. Don't. Please. Just stay here forever. We can freeze this moment and spend the rest of eternity here.

And then drags me off me and says, "I'm proud of you, Kiran. I think… I think you've got a good chance. I will tell your mother that you love her." He pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. "I love you, son."

Then, there's Della. I don't know what to say to her.

"I've got to go to the big, silver city, now," I say softly.

"The Capitol?" she asks, confused.

"Yes," I say, my voice breaking. "And I probably won't come back."

The tears start sliding down her cheeks, then, and it's only a moment before I join her. We hold each other, crying, until the Peacekeepers take them away.

My friends surround me in one, big hug. Easton tells me five or six times that I can win, that I've got the skills, that I can come home. Bridgette and Brody, the twins, who turn twelve tomorrow, hug me like there's no tomorrow. In retrospect, there isn't. Not for me, at least.

And then all who's left is Era. Sweet, beautiful Era. I always wanted to date her, to marry her one day. I guess all that goes down the drain, now.

"I… uh, I l-love you," I say, my voice nearly inaudible.

She chokes back a sob. "I do to—"

But the Peacekeepers come and take her away.

 **Wren Willodean's POV**

"Why did you do it, Wren?" Dad asks pleadingly.

"I had to," I say sadly. "I can win. I can fight. I can survive. I've got the skills, Dad."

"But what if you don't come home?" Mom asks between sobs.

"I will. I will come home." Maybe if I say it enough times, it'll convince me, too.

"I don't get it," Ant says. "Where is Wren going?"

"Wren has to go away, now," Mom says, bending down in front of him. "She will hopefully come back, okay?"

"I'll be back, okay, Ant?" I say.

"O-okay," he stammers, his voice choked up. The tears start falling, but before I can do anything to comfort him, they are all gone.

There's only one other person I can imagine will come. And he does.

"Atticus," I say quietly. Our relationship is complicated—I want to be just friends, but he wants to be more.

"I love you, Wren," he says. I take a step back.

"Um, slow down."

"I do," he says truthfully. "You have to come back to me. You've got to. Promise."

I groan. "Okay, I promise."

"I really do love you."

And then he is gone, too.

 **A/N: Yay, I've gotten another chapter out! Happy Thanksgiving, for those who celebrate it!**


	7. District 6 Reaping - Ice cream and Abuse

**A/N: OH MY GOD I FEEL SO TERRIBLE RIGHT NOW. I HAD SUCH A GOOD POSTING STREAK FOR THIS AND THEN I BROKE IT I AM SO SORRY!**

 **Anywho thanks to AnnaBanana for Tesla and TheNoobyBoy for Brandon!**

 **THERE IS MENTION OF CHILD ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER. IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, DM ME FOR A SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 6 – District 6 Reapings**

 **Tesla Mercedust's POV**

The sound of someone's screams—mine?—echo around the room. I can see _him_ in front of me, my own blood splattered across his face. I cry out again, desperate to get away from him.

I wake with a start, bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. _He's not here,_ I tell myself. _He can't hurt you anymore._

But no matter how times I tell myself that, it never seems to get through my obnoxiously-thick skull. _He is in prison. He won't escape, certainly not so he can hurt you more._

I push the covers off my legs. Why can I never convince myself that I am safe? Maybe it is because I'm not safe, what with the Hunger Games fast approaching and my chances of going in higher than ever. I mentally shake away the worry creeping into my bones. _It's over, now. Nothing could ever beat what I went through. Not even the Hunger Games._

I repeat that like a mantra in my head as I got ready. They stagger the Reapings in the Districts, that much is true, but that doesn't mean District 6 is all that late. Besides, I'm a late sleeper.

I hurriedly dress, throwing on whatever looks nice and running a brush through my brown hair. I absentmindedly tie my hair up in a ponytail, examining my tan face

in the mirror. Looks have never really bothered me—I guess I'm too preoccupied with hiding scars.

Downstairs, I can hear my mother and stepfather going about their morning, like normal. My stepfather is the CEO of the company that makes the tribute-transport trains. I never could understand how he could condone making machines to cart children off to their deaths, but he's a million times better than my actual father. _Anyone_ is better than my father. I'd rather have Coriolanus Snow for a father than spend another nine years living with Ford Canters.

I head downstairs and into the kitchen. My mother immediately envelopes me in a hug. "Oh, Tesla, you look beautiful."

I shrug. "Depends on your definition of 'beautiful', but thanks."

My stepfather smiles. "You really do."

I shrug again and sit at the table, listening to my parents talk. It's oddly calming, just simply hearing their voices and seeing them happy.

My mother has been so much happier since she met Dad (that's right. I refer to him as 'Dad'. He's more of a dad than Ford Canters ever was.) She laughs more and smiles more, and is so much better fed.

See, my father would take the money Mom had for food and spend it on drugs or alcohol, always claiming he was putting it to good use. But I knew he wasn't; I could always smell the alcohol on him, see it in his face, but whenever I confronted him about it, it always ended in disaster. And then one day, Mom caught him in the act, and he was carted off to the prison. Best day of my life, I have to say.

I slowly forced a couple pieces of toast down my throat. Nerves were eating at my insides, making me fear my breakfast might make a reappearance. On the floor, on the kid in front of me at the Reaping, maybe even on the escort's perfectly-polished face. Definitely would not go over well with the Capitol. Or maybe they'd just find it hilarious and think I'm a joke. I don't know which is worse.

I swallow thickly, sending the last bit of bread into my stomach. "Well, it's nearly time to go, isn't it?"

Dad stands and places a hand on my shoulder. "It'll be alright, Tess."

"Your father's right, Tesla," Mom adds. "We'll be back in an hour, and you'll be safe for a whole year."

I always wished that promises made about the Hunger Games didn't have to be meaningless, but here we are. The Reaping. Where two children have the whole rest of their lives ripped away from them and are sentenced to near-certain death.

The square is packed, filled to the brim with twelve-year-olds, onlookers, and (of course) Peacekeepers, their guns locked and loaded. As if someone would bother trying something.

Our District escort, Octavius Marrow, flounces onto the stage, his skin tinted a shade of green that makes him look like he's about to sick. I probably look like that right now.

"Hello, District 6!" He seems to expect enthusiasm, or at least some cheers and claps. Instead, his proclamation is met with dead silence. His smile falters, just for a moment. "We have a very special video for you today, all the way from the Capitol!"

The video is the same one they always play, about the rebellion, so I instantly tune out. I mean, does any pay attention to it? I can't remember a Reaping where I actually listened to it.

Octavius says, "Isn't that amazing?" He fixes the crowd with a dazzling smile as he chooses the girl tribute. He clears his throat and says into the microphone, "Tesla Mercedust!"

I freeze for a moment, utterly shocked. That… that can't be right. He didn't… he didn't say my name, did he?

He did.

I start my approach to the stage, walking with quick, sure steps. I fix anyone who dares to look at me with a look so pissed they recoil. I'm in the Games now—I've got to step up the intimidation.

Octavius practically squeals with delight when I reach the stage. I roll my eyes, doing my best to look unhappy but not terrified. Yes, this is all beneath me. I'm just inconvenienced. It's not a problem. The Hunger Games are… are… are mildly disconcerting. Yeah, that's it.

Octavius flashes that dazzling smile again as he goes to choose the boy the tribute. I keep my gaze fixed on the crowd, daring someone to look me in the eyes. I hope I got my message across well: Don't mess with me.

 **Brandon Hughes's POV**

"So," I say quietly. "Are you free this afternoon?"

Nova beams and laughs. "Unless I get reaped, yeah." She frowns. "Why?"

"Well, my mom won Teacher of the Year and—"

"Wow! Congrats." Nova grins again, and I realize I'm smiling like a dope.

"And as a reward," I say. "We, um, get some money—but the best part is that we get ice cream. And I, um, was wondering… if you'd like to have some with me?"

Nova cocks her head. "Really? I'd love to!"

She grabs my hands, her chin coming to my forehead. I don't really mind, though. She said yes! After all these years, I finally, finally get to go out with Nova!

And before she leaves, she plants a kiss, right on my forehead, and then she disappears into the crowds around us.

I make my way to the Reaping, a goofy grin on my face. She really said yes! We're really going to have ice cream this afternoon! Now all I have to do is get through the Reaping and all my dreams with come true.

If only Dad was here so I could tell him. He was always so supportive of my crush on Nova, always trying to convince me to ask her out. And I finally did… but he's not here to see it. My grin falls for a moment, but the thought of Nova's kiss on my forehead remedies it. The spot is still warm.

The square is filled with people, and I spot Nova as I head to the boys' section. She smiles at me, and a warm feeling washes over me. There's no way anything can go wrong now. I finally got Nova! We can finally be together, after all these years of hoping. This is the best day of my life!

Octavius Marrow comes out onto the stage, green skin shining in the sun, and greets the crowd. He is, of course, met with silence, and he rushes right into the video. He heads over to choose the girl tribute, a girl names Tesla Mercedust. I make the mistake of meeting her eyes, and she gives a look so angry, if looks could kill, I'd be dead.

Octavius clears his throat again and heads over to the boys' bowl. Only a few more minutes. Just a few. Soon, I'll go on my first official date with Nova. This is the best day of my life!

"Brandon Hughes!"

This is the worst day of my life!

As soon as my name leaves Octavius's lips, I freeze up. I choke back a sob. My whole life had just been ripped away from me. My future with Nova, the rest of my life!

Someone gives me a shove, and I stumble forward. The stage seems so far away…

I desperately search the crowd for Nova's face. When I find her, I immediately wish I hadn't. There are tears silently pouring from her eyes. I want to think she's just sad that she won't get any ice cream, or won't be able to say she has a boyfriend. But I know she's mourning for _me_.

For some reason, it motivates me. I have to make it back to Nova. I will give her the future I always dreamed we would have together. She will never have to suffer again. It will all be worth it, to see her happy.

I'm going to win these games. I have to.

 **Tesla Mercedust's POV**

"Oh, Tesla!" Mom pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, sobbing with tears in her eyes. "I love you, Tess. You go out there and win for me. I know you will."

I want to believe her, I really do. But I can't.

After everything I've been through… the Hunger Games should seem like nothing. But for some reason, it isn't. This time, there's no hospital for me to go to, no Mom to save me from Ford Canters. No one to save me.

"You've got this, Tesla," Dad adds. "I promise." _Meaningless promises_. Promises no one can keep. Not even Dad. Not even Mom.

Not even me.

 **Brandon Hughes's POV**

The first through the door is Mom. She hugs me so, so tightly, telling me about all the ice cream we'll have when I come back. _If_ I come back.

No. I _will_ come back. I have to. For Nova.

Mom continues to assure me, but before she leaves, I give her one last request. "Mom," I say. "This morning, before the Reaping, I asked Nova if she wanted to have ice cream with me. Do you think… do you think you still could let her have some?"

Mom sniffles. "Of course. Of course she can."

The Peacekeepers escort her out, and she is replaced by my friends, Roark, Chevy and Wade. Usually, they make jokes about my height. This time, however, they don't. And too soon, they are gone as well.

And then it's just Nova.

We stand across the room from each other, neither of us knowing what to say. Suddenly, she charges across the room and kisses me. I jump, but in a moment I kiss her back. We break apart after a few seconds.

"Come home," she says.

"I-I will," I promise.

The door opens, and Nova disappears, my lips still tingling.

I _will_ come back for her.

But deep down, I know it's not going to happen.

 **A/N: So I know Brandon's POV is a little rushed, but I wanted to start it off with his and Nova's conversation. He didn't have a whole lot that needed to be explained, so his is shorter.**

 **Anyway, love it? Hate it? I should have the next chapter out as soon as I get my female tribute in.**


	8. District 7 Reaping - Fate-Swapped

**A/N: I am really really sorry that this took so long! But you're not here to read my excuses.**

 **Thanks to LordShiro for Echo and IciclePower33 for Macy!**

 **Oh, and I know I've done the girls first every time before this, but I got Echo first so I wrote him first.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 7 – District 7 Reaping**

 **Echo Shamir's POV**

I glance sidelong at Shallow. The top of his head, the blonde hair so bright it's nearly white, peeks out from under the blankets. I run a hand through my own hair—completely identical to his. Well, everything about him is identical to me. It gets annoying, sometimes. People still mix us up, after 12 years of knowing us.

The sun barely peeks through the window on the opposite side of the room. I always get up early. You might it's for work, but I don't work. Yet. As long as I survive the next six years, I will actually get to work instead of just learning how to.

Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. I get up early to go train with my dad. I guess I'm more scared of the Games than I like to admit. I train, every day, since I was ten so if I ever got Reaped, I would be prepared. No, scratch that, I'm not scared of the Games. I'm scared of dying young.

I hurriedly get ready, not even really thinking about the Reaping later today. I've got time. The Reaping isn't until this afternoon, and the sun is barely even up. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? I'm ready, I'm prepared. If I have to go into the Games, then so be it.

Maybe I should worry about Shallow. But he's got as big of a chance of going in as everyone else. He'll be fine. I'll be fine. Neither of us will be picked. I'm… I'm sure of it.

My dad always takes me out to the forest to train. He's afraid of being caught if we do it in the house, or somewhere in town. Besides, it's not uncommon

for men to go into work early. Dad and I are no different.

I've always liked how quiet the forest is when there's no axes waking or trees falling. It's peaceful. The exact opposite, I imagine, of a forest in the Hunger Games. Everything in those arenas are artificial… this isn't. If I ever go into the Games, the arena better not have a forest. It just won't feel right, and when I make it back, I'll never be able to look at a forest the same again.

Dad and I spar sometimes. Sometimes I just practice with different weapons. But today, since it's the Reaping, Dad decided to quiz me on survival stuff. I don't really get why—I know most of it by heart.

By the time he's finished, there's no time for me to do anything with weapons. I know a lot of tributes die from natural causes—I just won't be one of those people. I know the stuff too well. If I'm going to go, it'll be in a fight. I refuse to go down without one.

It's still fairly early when we head back, so the town is eerily silent. But by the time we arrive at our home, everyone is waking up around us, getting prepared for the Reaping.

I can't say I'm not nervous. No matter how many years one has to prepare, no one can ever be ready to face death, can they?

My mom always likes to dress Shallow and I in the same clothes. She thinks it'll save money to just buy two of the same thing. Personally, I don't follow that logic.

And thus, Shallow and I are dressed identically, making it even harder to tell us apart.

"You look nervous," Shallow says.

"What?" I exclaimed. "No—no I don't. I'm fine."

Shallow examines my face skeptically. "Yeah, right."

"I'm fine."

Shallow snorts and pulls his chair out from the table.

Money has never been really tight for us. We always have enough to eat, but not much left over for luxuries. I don't really mind though. It's better preparation for the Games.

"Well, this is your chance," Shallow says, sticking his fork into his food.

"Chance to what?"

"Chance to put all that knowledge to good use," Shallow says in a tone that implies it should have been obvious. "You've been training for, what, two years, now? What are you gonna do with all those skills if you never go into the Games?"

I shrug, looking down at my plate. "I-I don't know. I just want to be prepared."

He snorts again. I feel my face flush. "Being prepared only gets you so far," Shallow says lazily, his fork limp in his grip. Then he shrugs and keeps eating, as if all of this is nothing. It's not nothing. I know this. Shallow must too, right? We have a chance of going in, whether we prepare or not. But… but I'll be ready.

"Echo, Shallow, we need to leave soon if we're going to make it in time," Mom says, ducking her head into the room. "The Reaping starts in a little less than an hour."

I sigh and stand up, resigned to my fate. Might as well get it over with.

 **Macy Barker's POV**

I lift my hand to rest on the branch. The ground lies a dizzying fifty feet below me, but I've learned not to look down. I've fallen before; it hurts, but hey, I'm not dead. That's a lot more than some can say.

I really shouldn't be up here. Mom doesn't like it when I go climbing on Reaping Day. She's afraid I'll fall and hurt myself. As if. I haven't fallen in a year and a half. She just underestimates my abilities. But then again, what's new? No one has any reason to pay attention to the small, agile girl who spends most of her time climbing trees.

I do try to make myself noticed. Sometimes it's just hard, what with Alex and Daniella running around being so much better than me. I don't really mind, though. Going unnoticed is nice sometimes.

My foot slips out of its hold, and I nearly go tumbling fifty feet to the cold, unforgiving ground, but I catch myself before that happened. I hang there from the tree by one hand, my feet searching wildly for a hold.

Even after my close shave with at least a few broken limbs, I keep climbing. Most people would have climbed back down. But I'm not exactly most people.

I keep climbing until the branches get so thin they can't support even my weight. The way down is always much less exciting than up. Think of it this way: it's like after Christmas ( **A/N: I don't know if they celebrate Christmas in Panem, but I'm using this analogy anyway)** when you have to take down all your decorations. Putting them up is fun, but taking them down is like admitting defeat.

My feet reach solid ground and I dejectedly start heading for home. The Reapings aren't the problem; it's simply the fact that I have to attend.

I wish I could have stayed there, way up at the top of that tree until the Reaping ends, but it's not really something worth dying over. I'd rather stand around for twenty minutes while a couple of kids get carted off to their deaths than have Peacekeepers cut me out of a tree. I snort at the image.

The trek through the forest usually isn't this nice. At all hours of the day, and sometimes into the night, you can hear axes hitting the trees, the wood hitting the ground, the lumberjacks going about their business.

But on Reaping Day, it's so quiet. It's so quiet it makes me want to yell and scream and laugh and fill all the silence. But I bite my tongue. There's no one around to hear my voice, to laugh at my jokes, to notice me.

My house comes into view just ahead, in all its one-floor glory. I turn the knob, only to find the door is locked. I close my eyes for a moment, then lift my hand and bang on the wood. "HEY!" I yell. "THE DOOR'S LOCKED! LET ME IN!"

I bang my fist against the door again. "ALEX! DANIELLA! MOM! DAD!"

Finally, someone opens the door and lets me in.

Our house isn't much. I share a room (and a bed) with my older sister, Daniella, while Alex gets his own room. We all have to share one bathroom, which is maybe ten feet by five feet and has no usable sink.

I quickly change into my Reaping outfit, throwing my copper-colored braid over my shoulder.

The afternoon air is warm, the sun pouring down on our heads as we head for the square. The winters in 7 are frigid, but the summers are almost too warm for forestry.

I get my finger pricked as we enter the square, and I bid my family goodbye.

Cassiopeia Walterwood, her skin painted sky blue to match her snot-green wig, stands up on the stage, looking down at us with barely-hidden disdain. She's fairly new to 7; she came to us from 2, about four years ago, and hasn't quite gotten used to our lack of enthusiasm.

"Hello, District 7!" she calls into the mic, a painful-looking, faux-smile plastered on her ridiculous blue face.

No one claps. No one cheers. No one even batts an eyelash.

Cassiopeia makes an expression of disgust for a moment. "Well, um, let's get right into it, shall we?"

She slides off the stage as the video begins. Isn't all that crap about 'safeguarding our future' with the Hunger Games ridiculous? I mean, they're not safeguarding our future. They're taking away twenty-four of ours, year after year after year.

"Ladies first, of course," Cassiopeia says with this strange little arm movement. She twirls her blue arm a bit before dipping it into the girls' Reaping bowl. When she at last decides which one she wants, she plucks the paper out and sashays back to the mic.

"Macy Barker."

It takes half a second to register. I half-frown, raising my eyebrows. I start walking to the toward the stage, wondering what my parents are thinking right now.

When I get to the stage, Cassiopeia examines me for a moment, as if in a single second judging whether I'll live or die. How anyone could ever do that is beyond me. It takes me, like, forever to figure out what someone's survival skills are! Most people I know don't even have survival skills! All I know how to do is climb and swing an axe.

I flash a smile to the crowd. Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll just climb a tree and stay there until all the fighting is over. Yeah, I've got this.

 **Echo Shamir's POV**

After Macy goes up to the stage, Cassiopeia goes to the boys' bowl. I can feel the sweat running down my back, sticking my shirt to my skin. At least my jacket covers it up.

Cassiopeia reaches into the bowl dramatically, sifting around before her blue hand finally closes around a slip. She slowly unfolds the paper.

The name that leaves her lips isn't mine, and I'm so relieved I don't even catch who it actually is. I sigh, exhaling a breath I didn't even know I was holding in.

That's when it hit me. That's when the name registered.

I was right; it wasn't me.

It was Shallow.

"Your tributes for District 7, Shallow Shamir and Macy Barker!" Cassiopeia shouts while Shallow and Macy shake hands. I'm too late. Too late to volunteer. Too late to save my brother. I want to yell something. Something like, "I told you so!" but I couldn't. My whole body is frozen. Shallow looks at me imploringly, accusingly, as he is whisked away into the building.

Mom is sobbing. Completely wrecked, and she hasn't even said goodbye yet. Dad's got this stoic look on his face, like he's the one going into the Arena. But there's something else on his face, too. This deploringly look, like, _you were prepared. Why didn't you save him?_ And I have no answer.

As we go into the Justice Building, an idea comes to my mind. Just before we enter the goodbye room, I say, "You guys go in, first. I… I want to be alone with him. You know, just the two of us for… f-for one final time."

Dad agrees. As they enter the room, he sends one more look over his shoulder at me. _Why didn't you save him?_

The Peacekeepers let them in with the warning of two minutes. I stand there awkwardly, thinking about all the laws I'm about to break. But… when has that ever stopped me before? I've trained for the Games for the past two years. The Careers do that. The Capitol doesn't stop them. But this… this is not something the Careers do.

My parents come out of the room, more tear-stained than before.

I enter with the warning of two minutes.

"Shallow," I say. "I've got a plan."

"Huh?" Shallow says weakly. "P-plan?"

"Yeah," I say. "We're going to switch."

Shallow's eyes widen. "You… you can't be serious!" he exclaims. "What if someone finds out?"

"They won't," I say assuredly. "Just go home with Mom and Dad. No one will ever know. I'll go to the Capitol. You'll stay in 7. And in a hundred years, everyone will talk about Shallow Shamir, the Victor of the 5th Quarter Quell. No one will ever know it was actually me doing the fighting, the surviving."

Shallow frowns. "You really want to do this?"

"O-of course."

Quickly, I sit down on the bench and force Shallow to his feet. The Peacekeepers yank open the door, and Shallow leaves, only a little hesitant. I do my best to look sad and worried, nervous and scared.

Shallow glances over his shoulder just before the door closes. I try not to think about what I've just done. I try not to think about how much trouble I might get in if I'm found out. I try not to think about how I never said goodbye to my parents. I try not think about how no one will ever know I died. I try not to think about the Hunger Games.

 **Macy Barker's POV**

The goodbye room feels off. I feel like I should say something deep and philosophical about it, like _imagine, so many long-dead people have sat here and cried_ , but I'm not good at deep and philosophical. So I sit, and I wait.

My parents, Alex and Daniella come in with a warning of a time limit from the Peacekeepers.

"Oh, Macy," Mom says, cupping my face with her hands.

"Aw, come on, Mom," I say nonchalantly. "I'll be fine."

"Mace," Alex starts, but I cut across him.

"Oh, come on, guys. I can swing an axe. I can climb. If all else fails, I climb a tree and let everyone else kill each other," I say with a lopsided grin. "I've got this."

"You always try to joke everything off!" Daniella cries. "You can't joke this off, Macy! This is the Hunger Games, not a fight on the playground! Only one of you comes home!"

I can't say I'm not taken aback. Daniella is always calm, cool and collected. She never bursts out like that.

"What Daniella is trying to say," Dad says pointedly. "is that only some people can win the Hunger Games. We're just… we're just afraid that you aren't one of those people."

"Wow, thanks, Dad," I say. "If I wanted to be insulted, I would have just brought my self-consciousness here."

Nobody laughs. I don't blame them. Maybe this isn't the best time for self-deprecating jokes.

The Peacekeepers open the door. They take my family away, and I half-heartedly wave to them as they disappear through the door.

I don't expect Davis to come, but he does. You could say Davis is a little too naïve and innocent to understand where I'm going, but he's 12, too. He knows what the Hunger Games are. He had a sibling who died in them a few years back.

"Hi, Macy," he says, staying close to the doorframe. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course!" I exclaim, putting on a false smile. "I'm just going on a vacation, I guess. I'll be back!"

"Will you?" he asks, a little sheepishly. "Will you come back?"

"Uh, yeah," I say in a tone that should have implied that it was obvious. "Who do you think I am? Some… some idiot kid who's never touched an axe in their whole life? I'm a lumberjack, Davis, I know how to survive."

"Okay," Davis says, but I can tell he doesn't agree. He takes something out of his pocket and hands to it to me. "Take this, okay? Something to remember us little people back in 7 when you're a Victor."

I smile and take the piece of tree bark. There's some sap on the back, which quickly gets all over my hands, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. "Thanks, Davis. It'll come to the arena with me, promise."

"Okay," Davis says. "I… I guess I'll see you, then."

"Yep," I say. "Not going to say goodbye. Just going to say so long for now."

 **A/N: Well, there you have it! Tell me what you think about Echo and Macy, or just the chapter in general! I'm not sold on this chapter. I just don't feel like I did Echo and Macy right. I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong.**

 **See you in District 8!**


	9. District 8 Reaping - Two Days More

**A/N: Ahh! The SYOT is officially closed!**

 **Thanks to LordShiro for Avia and S.H. Rekes for Al!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 8 – District 8 Reaping**

 **Avia Kasiani's POV**

My parents need to learn to lock the front door.

They are always trying to find ways to keep me home. I think they should start by locking the front door. It won't do much, since I could just climb out a window, or break the lock, or go out through the backyard, but at least they would look like they were putting forth some semblance of effort.

I open the door quietly and slink out into the early morning light. The sun peaks over the city down below, but I can't see it very well. All of the beauty that 8 should have is blotted out by the pollution from the factories.

Our front yard is quaint and steep, going down the hill our house is built on. There are a few garden gnomes dotting the grass and the porch, which I guess is what you get for having a rich father who works hard to keep up appearances.

I don't really get why Dad thinks putting out strange little porcelain people is going to make our family suddenly liked by others. But then again, it doesn't matter to me how someone sees us. Even if they start out liking us, surely they won't by the time I'm finished with them.

I peek out from the porch, and upon seeing the curtains moving up in my parents room, my mother's face appearing in the window, I take off across the yard. It always feels more exhilarating when they actually see me run off—then they know immediately to go out and look for me.

And so I charge across the yard, knocking down one of the stupid little garden goblins on my way to the fence. I don't bother opening gate, instead just swinging my legs over the wrought iron and sliding right down the hill. I hear the front door bang open behind me, and I start running harder.

The grassy hill our home sits on gives way for the stark gray world of District 8's biggest city. All the houses look the same, some nicer than others, some practically missing a wall, but still, the same. However, it's a lot more interesting than back in the house, alone with Mom, Dad, Delilah, and all the maids and butlers.

A lone woman, standing on the steps outside a ramshackle little house, washing a pale purple dress that looks like it would fit me, looks up as I come past.

The wet dress in her hands reminds me that it's Reaping Day. Oh, well. I'm sure Mom and Dad will have me back long before that starts.

"Are you alright, dear?" the woman asks. "What are you running from?"

I smirk, my face hidden by my black hair, before jumping right into a nice little lie. "My father was hitting my brother! I think he was planning to go after me, too! I panicked, and I ran, and now…" I look around as if I didn't know where I was. "I'm here."

"Oh, that's terrible!" the woman exclaims, the purple dress momentarily forgotten. She speed walks across the path and moves to put a wet hand on my shoulder. I flinch away, really trying to sell the whole gig. "What's your name, dear?"

"My dad says I'm not supposed to tell strangers my name," I say matter-of-factly. "he says it's dangerous for others to know my name."

"Oh, but if your father beats you and your brother…" the woman trailed off. "Are you sure you won't tell me?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't." I stick out my bottom lip, tears welling in my eyes. "I just don't know what to do!" I wail, letting the tears spill over my cheeks. I dramatically choke back a sob. "My brother might be dead! I-I-I should have stayed with him! Oh, I'm such a terrible sister!" I sink to my knees, letting a sob escape from my throat.

"No, you're not!" the woman exclaims, kneeling down beside me. "Why don't you show me where you live? That way we can get you out of your bad situation."

"No, no," I say, still crying inconsolably. "I'll just go to the Peacekeepers—I'm sure they'll help me!" I stand up on shaky legs and stumble a few feet down the street.

"Oh—no, you don't have to go!" the woman cries, running to catch up with me.

A girl about my age pokes her out of the house. "Aunt Greta, are you finished with the dress—who is that?"

"I'm trying to help her," 'Aunt Greta' says. "Her father is abusing her and her brother."

"That's terrible!" the girl exclaims. "But can't you help her after the Reaping? I need my dress!"

Wow. I think I just met someone who's even more of a brat than I am.

Aunt Greta turns to the girl and walks a few steps away from me. In that moment, I wipe the tears from my face and sprint back the way I came, disappearing around the corner before the woman even realizes I left.

I slow my sprint to a light jog after I get a nice distance away from that woman and her niece. I decide to pretend that I never left the house—just to mess with Mom and Dad even more. I grin at the thought.

I hop the fence in the backyard, slinking back into the house through the patio door. I run the expanse of the living room and pound up the stairs. I throw myself onto my bed, landing with a _boof_ on my bed. I sink back into the pillows and blankets, nestling deeper into the covers and pretending to be asleep.

I wait an annoyingly long amount of time—long enough I considered getting out of bed and finding my parents when the door finally opens.

"Avia!" Mom exclaims. "We were so worried about you?"

"Worried?" I ask, playing dumb. "Why were you worried? I've been in bed all morning!"

"Your mother said she saw you leave the house early this morning," Dad says, sitting down on the bed. "She said you ran down the hill and into the city. We went out looking for you! Imagine if you had been caught, out on Reaping Day like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say innocently. "I promise I've been here, in my room, all morning. I never left the house."

Mom and Dad exchange confused looks. "Well…" Mom says. "Maybe I was just seeing things."

"Yes," Dad says. "That's probably it." He smiles and pats my leg. "You should get ready to the Reaping, Av."

"O-kayyyy."

"Come on, Avia," Mom says kindly. "You're going to be fine."

"O-kayyyy." I stick out my bottom lip. "I-I-I-I don't want to go to the Reaping!" I let a few tears trail down my cheeks, wetting my shirt. "I wanna stay here!"

"Av," Dad says softly. "You have to go. The Peacekeepers make us."

"That's dumb!" I wail. "the Reaping's dumb! The Hunger Games are dumb! Everything's dumb!"

I start bawling and I curl my knees to my chest.

"Avia," Mom says again. "I promise you're not going to be picked. And when we come back, I'll give you a nice big bowl of ice cream!"

I pretend to contemplate it. "O-kayyyy."

Mom flashes me a warm smile. "Let's go get you ready, okay?"

I nod sweetly and follow Mom to my bathroom. Ten minutes later, we leave the house, with me dressed in a pretty, pale pink dress (as per my request). I run ahead of my parents, leaving them behind as I reach the square. I get my finger pricked, letting myself whimper a little bit. I expected the Peacekeeper, a woman, to offer me some sort of condolence, but she remains stoic. I nearly glare as I walk to the girls' section.

Jaques Medarios, our District escort, saunters onto the stage like he owns the place. "Hello, District 8!" He acts as if our district is enthusiastic about the Games. "Let's get right into the Reaping, shall we?" The video about the rebellion begins, and I immediately check out. I stay that way until something jolts me from my reverie:

My name.

"Avia Kasiani!" Jaques calls into the mic, looking expectantly at the crowd.

I freeze. All my joints lock up. The breath is stolen from my lungs. And then, like the words register with my slow mind, I turn tail and start running, pushing through the crowd desperately. The look around wildly, terrified, not really thinking about where I'm going or what I'm going to do when I get there.

A Peacekeeper tackles me to the cement, pinning me to the ground. I scream as the Peacekeeper—the same woman who checked me in—drags me to my feet and pulls me to the stage. She plants me on the wood beside Cassius. I shake a little, but I slowly calm down. I might… I might actually be able to win this. And, damn, even if I don't, it'll be a lot of fun.

Yeah. Let's do this.

 **Alby 'Al' Thatcher's POV**

Two days. Two _freaking_ days, and I would have been safe. But noooooo. I had to be born late. I couldn't've been born _two freaking days_ earlier.

Even so, I have to drag myself out of bed on Reaping Day, pretending everything is fine. Every _single_ day. It's the same routine. Wake up. Go to work. Go to bed. I don't even have a home to go to. Dad and I could never even afford a one room shack.

There was a time when things were better, I think. When Mom was alive. It was only a few years ago, but it already seems like it was just a dream. We had a nice house. Good food. I didn't have to work every day. I could just be a normal kid—such a novelty anymore I can hardly remember what that is.

Nine years of my life were spent like that. Only three of them have been like this. But it already feels like a lifetime.

Normally, I would get up and go immediately to work. Even with the regular factory accidents, it would at least be safer than hanging out in an alleyway all day. At least in a factory you won't get jumped by a gang and mugged.

But Reaping Day is always different.

There's no work on Reaping Day. It always surprises me. I prefer work. At work there's so much noise I can hardly even think. But out here, in this is eerily quiet alley, the silence is deafening, giving me too much leverage to think. I hate being alone with my thoughts.

Last year, I started singing to fill the silence. It works, too—all I have to do is focus on the lyrics and I can shut out my past.

I don't even have anything nice to wear to the Reaping. All my pants are dirty from sitting in an alley when I not wearing them and spending the day in a factory when I am. And don't even ask about my shirts. Those are even worse than my pants. I can hardly imagine what the Capitol will think if I get reaped. They'll probably all be falling over each other, unable to comprehend that someone could be dressed so horribly.

No matter how amusing that thought is, I don't crack a smile. I can't remember the last time I really smiled. Maybe some time I discovered a good song? Maybe before Mom died? Maybe never?

I stand up, stretching my back. My tailbone aches from the bad position I slept in last night. I look down at my dirty clothing. Good enough. There's hardly even a chance that I'll need to look presentable. Besides, half of District 8 dresses like this on a daily basis, and it's not like most of us can afford much better.

I walk lazily out of the alley, realizing just how late I must have slept in today. It's rare that I get to sleep any later than 6:00 a.m., so sleeping until 10:00 is a luxury. It probably would have felt better on a real mattress, in a real house, with real blankets covering my body instead sleeping against a wall with a tarp over my legs.

I wander down the street, wading through the crowd of people, already heading for the square. I feel like a salmon, swimming upstream, trying to find my dad.

He often leaves our alley very early in the morning, off to get food to eat before we have to work. A good meal for us consists of a loaf of bread (which we only eat a few slices of) an apple and some weak broth. Normally, though, we just have bread.

Some days there's not even that.

Eventually I come upon the bakery we usually buy from. It sells bread very, very cheap, so we can buy it very, very cheap. When we get a good paycheck, we buy a few loaves at once, even though it goes stale pretty fast.

I find Dad inside, haggling with a girl maybe a few years older than me over the price of day-old bread.

"I already told you," the girl says. "I am not lowering the price. My parents said I can't do that anymore."

Dad sighs and hands over the money. "Ah, Al," he says when he spots me at the door. "Let's have breakfast before the Reaping, shall we?"

We sit outside the bakery, out of the way of the crowds, eating our bread. "I hope you slept well last night, Al," Dad says with a chuckle. "You sure slept a lot."

I nod half-heartedly. "It was fine," I say before hurriedly shoving a piece of bread into my mouth. It tastes stale.

Dad looks up. "Oh, we better get a move on or else we'll be late for the Reaping." He climbs to his feet, beckoning me to follow him.

Jaques Medarios stands up at the stage, shouting, "Hello, District 8!" He grins at the crowd, seeming to think we are much more excited than we are. "Let's get right into the Reaping, shall we?"

The video plays, and then he picks a girl named Avia Kasiani. I've never met her—but I've heard of her. A lot of kids at my school hate her.

Only when he saunters over to the boys' bowl do things get serious.

"Alby Thatcher!" he cries.

My brow furrows a little bit, and I slowly make my way toward the stage. A sense of panic steals over my body, but for some reason, it doesn't show on my exterior. All I know is that the Capitol sees this scruffy, dirty, horribly-dressed boy stumbling for the stage, and it is not going to help my chances.

 **Avia Kasiani's POV**

The first one through the door is Mom. She envelops me in a hug, sobbing. I fight the urge to throw her off and tell her that I've got it under control.

"Delilah isn't going to make it to say goodbye," Dad says. _Fine by me_ , I think.

But that's not what I say. "You'll tell her I said goodbye, right? That I love her?"

"Oh, of course," Dad says softly. He pauses. "You'll get all the ice cream you can imagine when you come back."

I nearly smirk. "Oh, I can't wait!"

Dad hugs me, and I start forcing tears out of my eyes. I choke back a sob. The more terrified I seem, the better.

When they get pulled out the door, I sink back onto the cushions. _Time to put on a show._

 **Alby 'Al' Thatcher's POV**

Dad bursts through the door, still clutching the half-eaten loaf of bread from this morning. He hugs me, and I half-hug him back.

"You'll be okay, Al," Dad says reassuringly. I can't help but think that that this is exactly what other parents are telling my future opponents, right now. The idea freaks me out. "You'll make it out. I know you will."

I shrug. "The Capitol isn't going to like me."

"Oh, come on, Al!" Dad exclaims, going for a happy tone but epically failing. "Just let them get you cleaned up a little, and the Capitol will see the strapping young man underneath!"

"I guess."

 **A/N: Feel free to tell me what you think of Avia and Al! Reviews are always appreciated.**

 **We're so close to actually finishing the Reapings! I know the Reapings are kind of boring from a reading standpoint (and least in my opinion) and they aren't the most interesting to write, either. But we're close!**


	10. District 9 Reaping - Kittens and Cuts

**A/N: Thanks to AnnaBanana for Cornell and AmazonWarrior04 for Valentine!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **WARNING: THERE IS MENTION OF PHYISCAL ABUSE DURING VALENTINE'S POV. IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, PM ME FOR A SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER.**

 **Chapter 9 – District 9 Reaping**

 **Valentine Vizzolini's POV**

"Mew!"

I hear Nutmeg before I feel her paws on my chest, walking right up my neck and onto my head. "Mm—Meg—" I mumble, my voice muffled by her fur as she settles down right on my face.

"Mew," she says again, swatting her paw at my hair.

"Meggy," I say, groggily lifting her off my head. I cradle her in my arms as she mews in protest. "C'mon, 'm trying to sleep."

"Mew."

I smile sleepily, gently petting her head. Suddenly, she jumps out of my arms, running out of the room like someone lit her on fire. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and follow her out of the room. "Nutmeg, where are you going?"

She's already gone as I come around the corner. Then I hear the noise—the reason Nutmeg ran off, I think.

"You useless piece of shit!" The yell is followed by the sound of hitting. Someone cries out in pain.

I cringe, hanging onto the doorframe of my room. I don't dare go downstairs. I wish Danner was here. He always saves Mom and me from Dasher. He even protects Nutmeg when Dasher starts trying to hurt her.

Dasher always gets like this when he comes home from work. He's stressed, overworked, and isn't paid well at all. He takes his frustrations out on Mom and I. I wish he would throw a pillow or something. Maybe he could punch a pillow? I think Danner might do that sometimes when he gets home.

See, my family used to be wealthy. My dad was the mayor, until he died and left us to scrounge to survive. Mom, Danner and I got over our previously well-off lives, but Dasher wants to live in the past. He hates going to work, because he thinks he's still an entitled, future-mayor that shouldn't have to work, but at least the rest of us know better. We know things will never go back to the way it was.

I creep toward the staircase, finding Nutmeg standing there, back on her haunches, hissing. I scoop her up and disappear back into my room before Dasher comes upstairs and tries to drown her again.

I shut the door of my room as silently as I can and curl up on my bed, cradling Nutmeg to my chest. "Shh, shh," I whisper, more to myself than to Nutmeg. She mews again, seeming concerned about me. I force myself to laugh a little. "I'm alright, Meggy. Don't worry…"

She doesn't stop her mewing, and I didn't expect her to.

I absentmindedly run my hand across Nutmeg's back. Down, back, down, back, down, back, down, back… I keep doing that until the noises downstairs stop and the door slams.

Nervously, I inch down the steps, Nutmeg still clenched tightly in my arms. Nutmeg mews worriedly until I reach the bottom and let her go. She slinks toward Mom, who is laid on her side, bruises littering her body.

"Hi, Mom," I whisper, kneeling in front of her. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Mom manages, pushing herself up. "Let's get you ready for the Reaping before Dasher comes back."

I nod and help her to her feet. We slowly make our way upstairs, Nutmeg following close behind, mewing occasionally.

After I deposit Mom in her bed, I go into my room and take out my only nice outfit. The dress is pale yellow and goes well with my strawberry blonde hair. Lastly, I put in my mother's favorite hair clip. It's sort of my good luck charm. That and Nutmeg.

I leave my room and scoop up Nutmeg again. She nestles into my arms, purring contentedly. I pull back the curtains in the living room/kitchen, letting the late morning sun pour into the normally drab space. Our house is nothing special, and I don't really have a lot of fond memories here. The only place in this house I am ever truly happy is when I am in my bed, with Nutmeg safe and sound in my arms. It's an extra plus if Dasher isn't home when this happens.

I head back upstairs and into Mom's room. "You should head out, Val," Mom says weakly.

I shake my head. "How will you get to the Reaping if I'm not here to help you?" I reply. "Danner's going to meet us there, and Dasher wouldn't help, even if he does come home before it starts."

Mom sighs. "Alright," she concedes. "Help me up."

It's slow progress. The streets are busy, and Mom is weak and tired. We have to stop every once in a while so Mom can catch her breath. Oh, I wish that Dasher had waited a day before he did this again, if he had to. But unfortunately, there's nothing I can do but help Mom get better. Next time, it could be me that Dasher hits, and then Mom will be there for me. I have to be here for her now.

We reach the Reaping a few minutes before it starts and I quickly get my finger pricked. A nice man offers to help Mom to the viewing section, and he doesn't ask questions. I like those kind of people. People who help, and it doesn't matter who they're helping or why they need help. I wish I could be one of those people.

The District 9 escort, a very dejected man named Maximus, comes out onto stage. He sighs and says into the microphone. "Hullo, District 9."

As per usual, his words are met with silence, and he clearly doesn't expect anything but. I can't imagine how hard it must be to be a district escort. You get to know two kids, year after year, and year after year, they don't come back, especially if you are from an outer district. I can't help but feel some sympathy for Maximus.

"Let's just play the video already," he says as the video starts. I watch halfheartedly, nervousness creeping up my throat. After the morning I've had, I've hardly even thought about the Games. The possibility that I could go into the Arena… no, I won't even think about it.

Maximus walks lazily toward the girls' bowl and plucks a name without second thought. "Oh… let's see… Valentine Vizzolini." He says my last name kind of weird. _VIZZO-lin-ee._

I take in a deep breath and start toward the stage. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…

"NO!" my mother yells, surging forward in the viewing section. "No, no, please, no, she's only twelve, she's only twelve…!

Peacekeepers surround her, holding her back as she continues to yell, "No, no, please, no!"

I reach the stage, coming to stand beside Maximus, taking in deep breaths. _Just in and out, in and out, in and out_.

I can't help but think about how little amount of breaths I have left.

 **Cornell Espench's POV**

I frown, kneeling down to touch the gash on my right leg. My hand comes away wet with blood. Oh well. I can bandage it up when I get home. Well, it won't be a bandage. I'll have to tie some cloth around it or something. Anything that will stem the blood flow.

Sighing, I stand up, doing my best to keep my weight off right leg. I'm sure it'll be fine. It doesn't hurt much at all. Then again, nothing really does anymore.

I wipe my bloody finger on my pant leg and start out for home. I can't believe I dropped that scythe. I glance back down at the gash, leaking blood down my leg. It runs from my knee to about half way to my ankle. I've definitely had worse, but it's a fairly deep cut. I should be okay once I get something around it.

The trek across the grain field is long and arduous. Normally, it would only take me a few minutes to cross, but with the cut, well, I'm not moving fast. I feel a little bit lightheaded, but that's probably just because of the bit of blood I've lost. I'm sure I'll be fine.

I reach the end of field and continue doggedly trudging toward the house. When I reach it, I yank open the door and stumble inside.

"Cornell?" my little sister, Rylina calls from the other room. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Do we have any bandages? I cut myself out in the field."

Rylina skips into the room, and I quickly pull my pant leg down over the wound. She doesn't need to see how much blood there is. After all, she's only nine. She doesn't see most of the wounds I get. She doesn't need to know.

"Here." Rylina hands me a roll of bandages that might be able to cover the whole wound. "I was using earlier to tie something together. I didn't think you would need them this afternoon."

I laugh good naturedly. "I didn't, either."

I go into our tiny little bathroom and sit on the counter. Gingerly, I roll up my pant leg and wash out the cut. The water stings a tiny bit, but mostly it just feels refreshing. I start wrapping it. Got to make sure I wear pants to the Reaping.

I leave the bathroom and go to grab my Reaping clothes. I had originally planned to wear shorts, since the heat of 9 in the summer is overwhelming, but I don't want to show off my bandages for the world to see.

"Cornell!" Rylina yells. "We're going to be late!"

"Okay, okay," I say as I stick my arm through my shirt sleeve. "one sec!"

I come out of the bathroom. Rylina grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. "Where's Mom?" I ask.

"She's still at the restaurant. She said she'll meet us there."

I let Rylina tug me out the door and through the grain fields. The square and surrounding town looms up ahead, my mother's restaurant somewhere, squeezed in with all the other narrow buildings.

I get my finger pricked as Rylina heads off to find Mom in the viewing section. Slowly, only with a tiny limp, I head for the boys' section as Maximus Willardson walks defeatedly onto the stage. "Hullo, District 9." He sighs. "Let's just play the video already." I tune out until he chooses the girl tribute. "Oh… let's see… Valentine Vizzolini."

I frown. I recognize that name from somewhere. Not the first one, the last one. Oh! Mayor Vizzolini, who died a few years back. Of course.

The girl's mother starts screaming about how young she is. Poor woman. I wonder how she will get by if she doesn't have her daughter. Did Valentine support her family?

Maximus sulks on over to the boys' bowl. Without hesitation, he takes a name right off the top. "Hm… Cornell Espench." He lazily throws the card onto the stage.

"The frick?" I mutter. The Peacekeepers come forward, preparing to escort me to the stage, but I brush them off, walking to the stage with a glare on my face and my arms crossed. This is not good.

When I reach the stage, I search for Rylina's face in the crowd, but I can't locate her or Mother. The thought is saddening.

I'm vaguely aware of shaking hands with Valentine and being escorted away for goodbyes.

It takes Rylina a few minutes to get here. She drags Mom in by the hand, her other hand taken up by a grain crown. Ah. That's why it took her so long to get here. She had to make it.

Grain crowns are kind of a symbol of luck in 9. Many of our tributes bring them as their tokens. They're supposed to keep us safe from harm, and protect our families while we wear them. I've never had one before, but I always knew Rylina knows how to make one. She learned from a girl in her grade who had a brother in the Games.

She stands on her tip toes, reaching up to place it on my head. "Wear it into the Games?"

"For good luck," I promise.

Mom takes my hand. "You'll come home, right?"

"I'll do my absolute best."

She smiles sadly and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Good luck."

"I love you, Mom."

"You'll tell the Capitol people about your cut, right?" Rylina asks, concerned. "I don't want you to go into the Games with a disadvantage."

"It'll be fine, Ry."

Rylina hugs me tightly, letting a few tears fall onto my shoulder, wetting my shirt, but I don't care. I just want her to be here, safe and sound, unlike me. "Hey, I'll be alright, Ry," I promise as she leaves. "I've got this. Honest."

When the door opens again, my friends enter the room. "Where's Carina?" I ask hopefully.

"She wants to come in alone," Wheaton says.

"And we don't want to see it," Bransonn adds. "You guys—ew!"

Any other day, I would have laughed along to Bransonn poking fun at Carina and I, but under the circumstances, I just can't find it in myself to laugh and joke, too.

"Hey, man," Wheaton says sympathetically. "You'll be okay."

"Yeah!" Bransonn exclaims. "You've got this in the bag!" He laughs, despite the circumstances. "Just make sure to get a scythe or a sickle, and you'll be home before you know it!"

I smile sadly. "They might not have any."

"Then make one."

"It's not that easy and you know it," Wheaton says.

"Hey, come on, guys," I say. "It'll be fine. Bransonn's right. I'll be home soon."

They leave, and now comes Carina. The first she does when she reaches me is press her lips against mine. We tried to keep our relationship a secret—Mom doesn't like it, and her parents downright hate me—but Wheaton and Bransonn know about it, as do most of our school.

We break apart. "You've gotta come back for me," Carina says. "Remember, we're still on for that date when we're fifteen."

"Of course," I say. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Nice grain crown," Carina says. "Is it from Rylina?"

"Yup," I reply. "It's gonna keep me safe in the Arena."

Carina kisses me again. "Hopefully that'll keep you safe, too."

Hopefully it will.

 **Valentine Vizzolini's POV**

Mom stumbles through the door, Danner following close behind with something cradled in his arms— _Nutmeg?_ How did he ever get her in here? Danner places her into my arms, and she nuzzles my face protectively. Tears spill out of my eyes—so much for putting on a brave face.

"Oh, Val," Mom says, tears on her face, too. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I'll… I'll be alright, Mom," I whisper. I sniffle before continuing. "Maybe I'll get lucky and get a good ally." I pull Nutmeg closer to my face and turn to Danner. "Don't let Dasher hurt Mom. And protect Nutmeg. You have to promise me that you'll protect them until I come back." More tears come pouring out and a lump forms in my throat, preventing me from talking at the moment.

"I will," Danner promises. "Nutmeg will be safe. Mom will be, too. I won't let anything happen to them. But you need to focus on yourself, Valentine. You can't let your worries about home stop you from winning. You have to come home."

"Of course I will!" I exclaim. "I'm determined. I _will_ be back. I swear."

"I love you, Valentine," Mom says. "so much."

"I love you, too, Mom." I kiss Nutmeg on the head a few times, and Mom takes her back. As they leave, Nutmeg mews worriedly, probably wondering why everyone is so sad, why I'm not coming with them, why is no one comforting me? I force myself to smile. "Love you too, Meggy. I'll see you soon."

And then I collapse against the seat, sobs wracking my body as tears come streaming down my face.

 **A/N: Gosh, I love Valentine and Cornell so much. And that cut Cornell has… well, let's just say it's not going to be completely benign.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Amanda**


	11. District 10 Reaping - The Akomish Tigers

**A/N: Thanks to CragmiteBlaster for Lammy and Rooster! Only two more Reapings to go!**

 **(Also, my cat helped me type up this chapter, so if you find any random symbols somewhere in the writing, you can blame that on Fred.)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 10 – District 10 Reaping**

 **Lammy Phyronix's POV (A/N: Lammy's last name makes me think of Pokemon for some reason)**

The forest is always quiet at this hour; I wouldn't usually be here this early, but with the Reaping this afternoon, it's important for Dad and I to get out and do some trapping. The early bird catches the worm, as my mother used to say. Dad has never said it, and my mother isn't in a position to say much of anything anymore.

When I was eight, my mom spent days following this rare group of beavers. Their fur is highly sought after, but what Mom didn't know was that they were all infected with a highly contagious, highly lethal disease. She successfully trapped them, but as she lugged the fur back home, she caught the disease. Her health had been ailing for a while and… well, she couldn't fight it off, and the Capitol has never bothered finding a cure for it.

I tilt my head to the side, looking at the rope in my hands. There's something off here… oh. I doubled knotted that part. I sigh, standing up. This is not a good day. I can't seem to do anything right.

"Dad!" I call. "I need more rope!"

"Okay! One second, sweetie!" he yells back, lost somewhere in the trees. I frown, looking down at the knotted rope. Maybe I could untie it? That would save us a piece of rope, and I wouldn't have to distract Dad from whatever he's doing.

I mess with the rope for a few seconds, but eventually decide it's futile. The rope is too tangled to still be useful.

"Yes!" Dad yells from somewhere. A few moments later, he comes through the trees, the carcass of a very large beaver in his hands. "Sorry about that, Lammy. I was really close to getting this guy." He lifts the beaver carcass in the air. "But I got him. His fur'll sell well."

"Can you come check out this rope?" I ask, still fiddling with the annoying piece of rope.

Dad comes over, still toting his beaver corpse, and takes the rope. He inspects it for a few moments. "Don't think there's much we can do, Lam. Ah, well, it's not like I don't have other rope we can use."

I sigh, a little put out, but I still nod.

"Anyway, we better get back to town," Dad says, quickly changing the topic. "The Reaping will start soon, and we don't want to be late. If we're late and they detain us, we won't get to go on that trip tomorrow, will we?"

Ah, yes. The trip. Tomorrow, we leave on a trip with some other trappers to get rid of this group of bears that are coming close to a town about twenty miles away. The objective is to kill them and probably sell their fur. I'm really excited for it. Dad doesn't usually take me on his big trips, so it feels like a big honor.

We're silent as we trek back through the woods and toward the town. I can see the medium-sized cluster of buildings up ahead—surprisingly, we live in 10's biggest city. We're not exactly urban here.

As we enter the town, I can already see the preparations for the Reaping being made. The stage is being set up in front of the Justice Building, and I can see our escort, a perky woman by the name of Arabella **(A/N: I keep forgetting what I named the escorts. I haven't used this name, right?)** Diadem. She themes herself around diamonds, which makes me think she belongs in 1, not 10. Perhaps that is just what she is aiming for.

Dad is just up ahead, still holding his beaver, which will probably be skinned then either sold or cooked up. I've never really been a fan of beaver meat, but we are well off enough so we don't have eat it often. If I were starving, I would be able to eat it no matter what. Well, I think if I were starving, I would eat just about anything. Aside from human, that is.

I shudder at the thought. I may have trapped animals all my life, but trapping animals is a whole world different than trapping humans. I think I could do it, if I had to. As long as I don't have to see them die, I think I could do it. If it were a question of life or death, I would choose myself over someone else in a heartbeat. I mean, in the arena, it's kill or be killed, and I refuse to be killed.

Our house is nothing special, but at least it has plumbing and a stove. There are three rooms: a kitchen/living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. We have one bed, which I share with Dad, and a small cellar where we do most of our skinning. We do it down there because the smell is so overpowering.

Dad heads down into said cellar, leaving me to go inside and get ready for the Reaping. This year, I have been paying it much attention than I thought I would. At least, with this year's Quell twist, there is a much higher chance that I will be Reaped. It's like there is a sense of foreboding resting on my shoulders. Oh well, it will be lifted in a few hours' time, when someone else is Reaped.

As I get ready for the Reaping, pulling my fiery red hair back into a braid, I think of the other twelve-year-olds, in the other districts, who have likely already been Reaped. It's a sad feeling. I shake away the thought, instead focusing on literally anything else. Anything to distract me from those tributes.

I eventually content myself with thinking of the trapping trip Dad and I will leave for tomorrow morning. As I wait for Dad to finish so we can head to the Reaping, I sit on our bed, thinking of what I need to pack for it. Before I realize what I'm doing, I unconsciously start to actually pack. The excitement coursing through my veins is nearly overpowering my fear of being Reaped. Almost.

"Lammy, honey, we need to leave!" Dad calls, coming into the house to wash his hands.

"Okay," I reply, setting the boot I was holding down on the bed.

We live on the outskirts of town, meaning we have a longer way to walk than some, but it still only takes us barely five minutes to walk to the square.

"Hello, hello, hello, District 10!" Arabella Diadem practically yells into the microphone, overly perky and annoying even by my standards. She smiles so wide I imagine it must hurt, her teeth so white that when the sun shines on them I have to avert my eyes.

When the sun gets blotted out by a passing cloud and I can see properly again, the video has finished before I even realized it started.

Arabella waltzes over to the girls' bowl, dipping her actually diamond-encrusted hand into the slips and ceremoniously picking one out.

I wait with bated breath as Arabella takes her sweet time going back to the microphone.

"And the female tribute, for District 10 is… Lammy Phyronix!"

A cold feeling steals over my body. I hear whispers.

"The fat upper class girl is gonna be turned to bacon."

"Finally, that stupid fat girl is going away."

"Better the fat girl than me."

"Ooh, fat trapper is gonna be trapped."

In that moment, I make a decision. If everyone is immediately going to write me off as a weak, sniveling little girl, why not play along?

So I collapse to the ground, wailing, and wait for the Peacekeepers to drag me to the stage. I don't bother to stand up as they plonk me beside Arabella, who fixes me with a look of disdain, and just continue by sobs. I sink sideways on the stage, my arms flopping hopelessly on the wood, drowning out Arabella's attempts to go on with my screams.

As I look out over the crowd, my classmates sneer. They snicker. They laugh at the fat, upper class, trapper's daughter, sniveling, crying, weak, cowardly, idiot.

Oh, they'll be sorry they ever messed with Lammy Phyronix.

They'll be sorry indeed.

 **Rooster McCoy's POV**

Upon spotting the obviously rich, upper-class man with the fat, bulging wallet sticking out of his back pocket, I think, _we're eating good tonight_. That money will sustain Rind, Sawyer and I for weeks. And it's not like this upstanding rich man is going to miss it.

I slink ever closer, sliding effortlessly through the crowds on their way to the Reaping. Why do they leave so early? It doesn't start for another two hours. I'll have plenty of time to get this guy's money and get back home.

As I pass the rich man, I 'accidentally' bump my shoulder against his, my hand going to his back pocket and silently pulling the wallet out.

"Oh!" I exclaim, feigning surprise, embarrassment and sincerity. "I'm sorry! I really should look where I'm going."

The man doesn't say anything. He doesn't acknowledge my apology. He just scrutinizes my face as if he's seen it before but can't remember where from. "I've seen you before, young man."

"Of course you have!" I reply amicably. "We do live in the same town, after all! Small world, right?"

He glares at me. "I saw you last week! Right before I lost my wallet!"

I blink in surprise, pretending to be outraged at what he is insinuating. In my head, however, I'm kicking myself. The first rule I ever made for myself when it comes to stealing is you never steal from someone twice. The second rule is you don't take what you don't need. "Are you accusing me of stealing from you?" I cross my arms, hiding the wallet in the palm of my hand and putting it in the pocket on the inside of my jacket. I put the pocket there years ago—it's my spot made specially for situations like this.

"My wallet went missing the last time I saw you!" the man cries. "That's all I'm saying!" His hands goes to his back pocket, his face becoming stricken when he realizes his wallet is no longer there. "Give me my wallet back, you little thief!"

Certainly not the worst thing I've ever been called when I get found out. 'Asshole' and 'Worthless crook' are probably high up on the list.

"I will call the Peacekeepers!" the man yells. "You know the punishment for stealing in Panem!" He narrows his eyes and takes a step closer to me, jabbing his finger at my chest. "Death."

There are two ways I get out these sort of situations: one, I talk my way out. Two, I run. Option two is looking pretty good right now. I can get out of most of these situations, but angering rich, probably-friends-with-the-head-peacekeeper-and-mayor, men on Reaping Day is not a good combination.

And so I turn tail and run.

The coward's way out, some might say, but I've been stealing for seven years. I've had my fair shares of close calls, but hey, I'm not dead yet, and that is certainly saying something.

The man chases after me for a few minutes, but appears to give up. I steal off down an alleyway, heading out of town, avoiding as many Peacekeepers as I can. Easier said than done, on Reaping Day, but I'm not exactly new at this.

Once I get out into the fields, I take the wallet from my pocket and start going through the things inside. I discard the man's identification card and all the coupons. I veer far off course, carelessly throwing the coupons and card on the ground, leaving a false trail. Once I run out of useless items, I turn sharply and start heading in the right direction.

The derailed train car my friends and I call home looms up ahead, the train car door wide open to combat the summer heat. I can see Rind and Sawyer seated inside, talking, probably waiting for me to get home so we can go to the Reaping.

I step up into the train car, waving the wallet excitedly.

"Rooster, man, we thought you got caught," Sawyer says. "You were gone for so long."

"I kept telling Sawyer that you knew what you were doing," Rind counters. "You're the most experienced of any of us."

Sawyer sighs. "I was even more scared that someone from another gang got you."

I roll my eyes. "Please. They've got nothing on us. Us so-called 'Akomish Tigers'."

All three of us laugh at that. The name our rivals gave us is rather ridiculous. When they first popped out with that, I voted that we call them something like that, too, but Rind and Sawyer vetoed it.

Rind pokes his head out of the boxcar and looks at the sun. "We should leave. The Reaping will start soon. We don't want to be late."

As we head into town, I tell my friends why I was late.

"Man, you broke rule number one!" Sawyer exclaims.

"I didn't realize!" I say defensively. "I just saw a wallet, lots of money, and knew that it would tide us over for ages."

We fall into silence. Eventually, we arrive at the Reaping, barely making it in before it starts.

Arabella Diadem, 10's escort, shining bright in the afternoon sun, waltzes onto the stage and jumps right in. I stand with Rind and Sawyer, wondering if there are any kids in this crowd I could steal from when the Reaping is over, when something sends a jolt through my body.

"Rooster McCoy!" Arabella calls into the microphone, looking expectantly at the crowd.

I sigh, glaring a little bit. I stalk toward the stage, standing next to the girl tribute who I didn't catch the name of and is currently bawling on her side. I roll my eyes and shake my head. At least she'll die soon. She'll probably fall off her plate before the countdown ends and blow herself up.

Arabella tells us to shake hands, but the girl—Lamb? Was that it?—stays on the ground, crying her fat heart out. A Peacekeeper hauls her to her feet and puts her hand in mine.

They drag us off into the Justice Building for goodbyes.

The goodbye room is colorful, the exact opposite of how I imagine most of the tributes who have sat in here feel. Me, on the other hand? Meh. It feels more like an inconvenience than anything else.

Rind and Sawyer enter the room, and for a moment we don't say anything.

"I think it was rigged," Rind randomly says.

"What?" I exclaim. "Why?"

"That guy you robbed could have gotten the Peacekeepers to rig it," Rind says with a shrug. "He probably thought that would be a better punishment than simple execution."

"But he didn't even know my name," I point out.

"Recognized you once, didn't he?" Rind replies. "Could recognize you twice."

I shake my head. "They would have only had a half an hour turn around time! They would have never done it in time."

"I think Rind is right," Sawyer says. "Which is the exact reason you've got to win." He puts his hands on my shoulders. "You don't have a noble reason to come home. No pretty girl waiting for you, or even a pretty guy. No sick family members. No real family at all. Cappies ain't gonna like that."

"Look, guys," I say. "I've got this. When I'm through, the Cappies will come crawling back to me. You'll see."

 **Lammy Phyronix's POV**

I don't hold back the waterworks when Dad comes in to say goodbye. But these tears aren't necessarily fake: however, I play up the sobbing, so on the way to the trains the Capitolites will see my tear-stained cheeks. They do love surprises. I'll be the best surprise of all.

"It'll be alright, Lammy," Dad assures. He seems a little taken aback by my tears, my open crying, but he seems to be taking it in stride. I just wish he could know that I'm not nearly as terrified as I pretend to be. "You know how to make traps. Just put up as many as you can, surround yourself with them. When the other tributes come to call, lead them onto your traps. You can win this, Lammy. I have faith in you. You can win. Just repeat that until you believe it."

"I can win," I say between sniffles. "I can win."

"That's it," Dad says comfortingly. "Over and over. Until you believe it like I do."

I nod and wrap my arms around him. I hug him until he pulls away.

"Here," he says, putting a small plush cow into my hands. "Whenever you are in doubt, just hold this. Remember your mother. Remember how she fought until her very last breath." He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales. "You can win this, Lammy. I believe in you."

"Time's up," a Peacekeeper says, yanking open the door and beckoning for Dad to leave.

"I love you, Lammy!" he calls. "Don't you forget it."

"I won't," I say, but I'm not sure he hear me. Ah well. I'll be back soon enough. When I come home, I'll tell Dad I love him every single day. I'll never let _him_ forget how much _I_ love him for a change.

My other two visitors are my friends, Chick and Bernadette. Both are the daughters of trappers, too, meaning they will go on the trapping trip tomorrow. Without me. Maybe Dad will postpone it until I get back? But those bears could injure or kill someone before I ever get back. If I get back, that.

Because now I am embarking on the hardest trapping trip of all. I will no longer be hunting animals. I will hunting and trapping the hardest prey of all: tributes.

 **A/N: What do you think of these guys? Lammy is a lot of fun to write, even if it doesn't seem like it. Rooster will definitely be interesting in the Games. Hopefully I will have District 11 out soon, but I'm not sure when. The district 11 male is open! I repeat, the district 11 male is open!**

 **-Amanda**


	12. District 11 Reaping - Not The First Loss

**A/N: thanks to Emberlex for Nora and Dospacito for Axel!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **WARNING: THERE IS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE IN AXEL'S POV. IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, PM ME FOR A SUMMARY OF THE CHAPTER.**

 **Chapter 11 – District 11 Reaping**

 **Nora Caffler's POV**

"Nora! Get in here!" Aunt Cary yells. "Quick!"

I waste no time dashing out of bed and down the stairs, my socked-feet making little _pitter-patter_ sounds on the worn wooden steps as I make my charge for the kitchen.

I start clearing the table, taking the vase full of dying flowers and the napkins off like I've done it a thousand times before. In fact, I have.

Two large men slam down a wooden board on the table. But the board isn't what interests me—it's the girl laying on it.

Her back is shredded. The blood trickles onto the table, finding its way into the crevices where I will undoubtedly scrap it out later. I run over to the cabinet, grabbing our sparse medicine and handing them to Aunt Cary.

The girl splutters. I grab her hand as it tumbles off the table and squeeze it tight. I don't know her. I've never seen this girl before in my life. I don't know her name. I don't know what she did to deserve this, or if she even did deserve it. It's unlikely that she did.

"It's okay," I whisper, my voice low enough that only she can hear. This girl must have lots of pain tolerance, since she has yet to lose consciousness. I gently stroke her dark hair, trying to provide comfort for this girl. "I'm Nora. We're gonna help you."

I don't know if she hears me, or even understands what I'm saying. I've never been whipped, but I know there are rarely survivors, let alone a girl like this, maybe two years older than me.

"Nora, ice!" Aunt Cary yells. I spring up and cross the kitchen. We have a dedicated ice box for occasions like this. I don't even feel the cold that permeates my skin as I scoop up ice cubes and gingerly start placing them onto the girl's back.

One of the men who brought the girl in is kneeling beside her, his mouth moving like he is talking, but I can't make out the words. Tentatively, I approach him and touch his shoulder. "Is she your daughter?"

He looks back to me. "No. My niece." His head swivels back around, his eyes locking onto the girl's, now closed. "Her name is Camellia." He swallows thickly. "All this for a loaf of bread."

A loaf of bread. A single loaf of bread. This girl might die for a loaf of bread.

I suppose I should be used to it. This kind of thing is a regular occurrence here. Whippings are commonplace. No one hardly even bats an eye when the Peacekeepers drag someone onto the whipping post. No one cringes anymore when someone's screams are ringing through the air. It just… happens.

The whippings keep getting worse. So is the amount of food we have. Just to think, Camellia was whipped horribly for a loaf of bread. If she dies… her whole family might as well.

"Nora, bandages, _quick_!"

I snatch the bandages from the cabinet—we're running out, I hope we have enough money for more—and throw them across the room to Aunt Cary. Just as I turn back to Camellia and her uncle, I see my little sister, Laiya, peering into the doorway with her little stuffed rabbit held close to her chest. Quietly, I go over to her. "Laiya, you shouldn't be down here. You remember what Aunt Cary said."

She nods. "I just heard yelling. I had to come check it out."

I give her a small smile. "Come on, let's go back upstairs." I take Laiya's little hand in mine and guide her back upstairs and away from the voices in the kitchen. As we ascend the steps, the yelling gets louder. "She's lost too much blood—" "Her pulse is slowing—" "Quick, give me that—" "She's not breathing!"

I swallow and look down at Laiya. Tears are welling in her big, innocent eyes. "Nora?" she whispers. "Is the girl in the kitchen going to die?"

"Of course not," I say, as if saying it enough times will make it true. "She'll be fine. Like all of them."

"Oh," Laiya says. "Okay."

"NORA!" Aunt Cary yells from the kitchen. "Get down here!"

I hesitate for a moment before letting go of Laiya's hand and charging back downstairs. But by the time I reach the kitchen, Camellia is already dead.

It's not the first time we've lost a patient. Those people will stick with me until I join them.

The first one we ever lost that I really remember was four years ago. It was the first time I'd ever been allowed into the kitchen when Aunt Cary had a patient. It was a boy, probably around five years older than me now, who had been whipped even worse that Camellia. His name was Lark. He had a girlfriend. They were planning to get married when they both turned eighteen. His girlfriend had been there as he died, and the sound of her voice as his pulse stopped still haunts me today.

The second patient we lost was about a year after Lark. It was a woman in her early thirties, who was very sick. Aunt Cary didn't think it was terminal when we agreed to help her, but as it turned out… she left behind two small children, who had lost their father a year before that. I saw one of those kids get shot in the street, and the other starved to death shortly after.

I've seen people shot on sight. I've seen people whipped to death after stealing a single fruit out of a tree. I'd seen people fall to their death from a tree. I'd seen children as young as two-years-old starve in the streets, watched the life slowly ebb from their eyes until there was nothing left but a hollow body to bury. But I couldn't help those people. It's always the hardest when we fail to save someone. Someone who deserved to keep living, but couldn't, because we didn't have the necessary means to heal them.

Camellia's uncle and the other man who brought her in lift the board she was laying on, taking out to presumably bury her.

"Why weren't you down here, Nora?" Aunt Cary asks harshly once we have everything cleaned up. "We might have saved her." The regret, the remorse, the overwhelming feeling of failure is evident on her face.

"I was taking Laiya upstairs," I say softly.

"You could have just told her go back to bed," replies Aunt Cary.

"But I didn't," I say dejectedly. "I need to go get ready."

As I leave the room, the tension in the air is likely so thick you could cut a hole in it.

"Come on, Laiya," I call up the stairs. "Let's get ready for the Reaping." I slowly head upstairs and enter the room Laiya and I share. I quickly start getting dressed for the Reaping.

"Where did the girl in the kitchen go?" Laiya asks.

"Oh, um," I say awkwardly. "She went home."

"She's alright, though?"

"Oh, yes," I reply, running a brush through my long, chestnut colored hair. "Her name was, um, I mean, is Camellia."

"That's a nice name," Laiya says conversationally.

I nod slowly. "We need to leave," I say quickly in an effort to take the topic away from the girl who died in our kitchen.

Laiya, to her part, doesn't argue. She just obediently follows me outside to the Reaping.

District 11's escort, a very bubbly woman named Esmeralda Cantos, who true to her name, has emerald colored skin, eyes, hair… really, emerald colored everything. "Oh, hello, District 11! I didn't see you there!" She laughs boisterously, jumping right into the rest of her speech like we all laughed too. "Now, let's watch our special video!"

The video about the rebellion plays. I wonder if it is the same one they showed way back when the games first started, one hundred and fifty years ago.

"Now, let's choose our female tribute to compete in the one hundred and fiftieth annual Hunger Games!" Esmeralda cries, strutting over to the girls' bowl. She dips in a hand ceremoniously, her fingers dancing indecisively. Finally, she plucks up a paper, heading back to the microphone. When she opens the slip, I can see that some of her green skin dye has rubbed off onto the card.

Esmeralda clears her throat. "Nora Caffler!"

A feeling of cold dread washes over me. My breathing turns shallow, and I look around wildly. Run? Escape? Just go to the stage? Option three… most safe now… least safe in the long run.

I stagger toward the stage, letting the Peacekeepers place me up beside Esmeralda.

I survey the audience, the whole of 11. This the last time I'll ever see it. I need to remember every single detail. I need to remember what Laiya looks like. So when I'm dead, and I see my parents, I can tell them about us. I can tell them I was okay. I can tell them that the Capitol is responsible for my death.

 **Axel Douglas Kohan's POV**

I still remember when I found his body.

He was hanging from the ceiling, rope around his neck, completely still. I had gone into our room in search of him, actually, and you could say that I found him.

It had only been two months since Dack failed to save Autumn. It was only four months ago that I found Dack's body.

People often say that grief gets better with time. But four months have passed, and the ache in my chest is just as fresh as when I saw Autumn loose her footing up high in that fruit tree, when I found Dack dead in our room. I used to say I didn't understand why Dack killed himself, but I suppose I do now. He had been just below Autumn when she fell, and almost caught her. He almost saved her. He almost saved our entire family dynamic.

I shake my head violently. These thoughts in my head need to go away. I'll never get anywhere in life if I can't stop thinking about Dack and Autumn. The past is in the past.

I watch Esmeralda Cantos sauntering around the stage before the Reaping begins, squawking and squeaking like some strange, green, featherless bird. I snort at the thought. The Reapings would be much more entertaining if the escorts were random birds. They could have seagulls in District 4, and woodpeckers in 7, and parrots in 1, and canaries in 12! Then, at least, the mood would be lightened considerably.

As I stand with the other twelve-year-old boys, most of them close to tears with nervousness, I can't help but roll my eyes, laughing inwardly at their frayed nerves. Well, guess what, idiots? I'm going to save all of your sorry asses.

I've been thinking about it for a while. The idea first came to mind when they announced the Quell twist. It makes more sense if I volunteer now. The Cappies will think I have the skills to win, or are trying to save a family member and think I'm all noble and all that crap.

No, I just don't want to live anymore.

Esmeralda picks a girl named Nora as the female tribute. She looks very nervous. I wonder if maybe she will be the one to win. I doubt it. She doesn't look like she has the guts to go all in.

The large, green, featherless bird goes over to the boys' bowl. She picks a name much quicker than she did with the girls and heads back to microphone.

"Yarrow Paulso—"

"I volunteer!"

The ripple of audible gasps go out across the square. I walk confidently toward the stage and stand beside Esmeralda. I shake hands with Nora, then they drag us off to the Justice Building.

I sit in the goodbye, expecting my parents to come say goodbye. But they don't.

I clench my fist around the wheat necklace in my pocket. Mom won't miss it. And when my body comes home, she'll have it back. I just hope she won't have to wash it.

 **Nora Caffler's POV**

"Oh, Nora!" Aunt Cary exclaims, enveloping me in a big hug. "I'm so sorry I was mad at you. You were doing everything you could! Now you have to do everything you can to win these Games."

"How can I?" I ask, a slight hysterical edge to my voice. "What am I supposed to do? I can't win the Hunger Games!"

"Auntie Cary," Laiya said innocently. "Nora is going to the Hunger Games?"

"Yes," Aunt Cary says sadly. "Yes, she is."

"Will you come back?" Laiya asks, her head cocked to the side like a confused dog.

"Um, maybe," I reply. "I might go live with Camellia. You know, the girl from the kitchen. I think we could, um, be good friends."

"Oh," Laiya says, her little brow furrowing. "Will you come visit?"

"I don't think I can," I reply. "But, um, maybe. I'll see." I kneel down in front of her and gently kiss her forehead. "I love you, okay, Laiya?"

"I love you too," Laiya replies. She holds out her stuffed, hot pink rabbit. "Will you take Snumbus with you?"

"Oh, Lai, I couldn't," I say, pushing the bunny back toward her.

"Have it!" Laiya insists. Finally, I take the rabbit. It's hot pink, with long floppy legs, arms and ears. It's eyes are bright green and two different sizes. "His name is Snumbus. Take care of Snumbus!"

I laugh quietly, despite the circumstances. "I will. No harm with befall him while he is in my care."

"Okay!" Laiya says. She kisses me on the cheek. "I love you, Nora! I hope you and Snumbus have fun with Camellia!" She waves to me as they leave the room.

Finally, one more person comes into the room. Tanner. My only friend. We met in the fields a few years ago, and have been close ever since.

"Hey, you got this, Nor," he says with a firm nod of his head. He looks down to the rabbit in my hand. "Oh, is that from your sister? I was gonna give you something else, but you should take that."

I nod. "Thanks for coming to see me, Tanner."

"I wouldn't miss it," Tanner replies. "not for the world."

All I do is smile.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, Nor," Tanner continues. "You gotta win." He looks back to the rabbit. "So you can give that back to your sister. I bet she'll want it."

"They give the tokens back, Tanner," I say. "She'll get it back either way."

"Yeah, but she won't get you back," Tanner replies. "And your aunt! What will your aunt do without you?"

"She'll get by," I say. "She got by just fine without me and Laiya. It'll just be one less mouth to feed."

"Don't think like that, Nora," Tanner exclaims. "How are you ever gonna win if you already sound like you've given up?"

"I'm not going to win, Tanner!" I cry. "I don't know the first thing about fighting, and I can't even help Aunt Cary save someone else's life! Who's to say I shouldn't just give up now?"

"I am!" Tanner yells. "I'm not letting you go so easily, Nora!"

The Peacekeepers open the door and call for Tanner to leave. As soon as the door closes, I sink onto the couch, sobbing, holding Snumbus close to my chest like Laiya used to.

 **A/N: only one more Reaping to go! I'm thinking of having a party when I finish with them all. Anyone want to come?**

 **What do you guys think of Nora? Of Axel? Do you think either will win?**

 **-Amanda**


	13. District 12 Reaping - Sunrise

**A/N: Thanks to TheNoobyBoy for Liana and CragmiteBlaster for XX!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 12 – District 12 Reaping**

 **Liana Arla's POV**

Early mornings in 12 are chilly, even in the summer. Despite this, I still go out every morning, at the crack of dawn, just to wander before everyone else wakes up. Besides, sunrise is my favorite time of day. All the pretty oranges and yellows and reds that mix together to form a beautiful painting that brings a new day, another chance. Even on Reaping Day, it is no different. The sunrises like it always does, and the sun will set like it always does, too.

I sit on the dusty ground against the wall of the candy shop, facing away from the Justice Building in the square. The sunrise looks so beautiful down this way, casting light down upon our little district.

I take out my paper and pencil, gently stroking the lead across it as I form the likeness of the sunrise. I can paint it later, if I ever get the money to do so. As I continue drawing, I wonder just how many shades I'll need to paint this and make it perfect. Maybe I can just get red, orange and yellow, and mix all the other colors I need. That can't be too expensive, can it?

"That's really pretty."

My head whips up to find myself face to face with Corolla Fenno, resident nicest person in Panem. She's a merchant kid, actually living in the candy store I'm sitting in front of.

"You're really good at drawing," she continues. "How long have you been doing it?"

"A while," I reply quietly.

"What's your favorite animal?" Corolla chatters. "Have you ever drawn your favorite animal?"

I sigh. These sorts of conversations always end with the same request: 'Can you draw _insert random item_ for me?' And they will always get the same answer: _No._ "I like wolves."

"Wolves are pretty," Corolla agrees. "Personally, I like cats better. Have you ever drawn any of those?"

"No," I say, even though I have four or five drawings of cats back at home. "Cats aren't really my thing."

"Oh," she says sadly. "That's too bad. But if you ever were to draw a cat, would you tell me?"

 _No_. "Um, sure, I guess." _Never in a million years. If I had it my way, I would never speak to again._ "You know, I have to go. Reaping. You know."

"But the Reaping isn't until this afternoon," Corolla says innocently. "Would you like to come inside? We have plenty of food to eat. You could have breakfast with us."

"Oh… um, no, I don't think I can," I lie. "See, I, uh, have this thing. With my mom. We have to go do… something. Reaping Day thing."

"Oh…" Corolla says, disappointed, probably knowing that I just don't want to hang out with her. "Okay."

I stand up from my spot in front of the candy store and start across the square. In front of the Justice Building, they are setting up the stage and T.V. screen in preparation for the Reaping. I don't give the workers much thought as I pass. After all, there's no law to being out early in the morning. Still, the large quantity of Peacekeepers crawling through the streets.

I walk faster.

Mom and I live in the Seam. We've never really been well-off, not like Corolla Fenno's family, or the mayor, or anyone, really. But we're comfortable. We have enough money to put food on the table most days, and we have plumbing and everything like that. It's just that Mom has to work a lot to make sure it is the way it is. Usually, she would already be in the mines. But not today. No one is in the mines today.

As I walk, I start wondering who will be Reaped this year. It could Corolla Fenno. But I doubt that she has taken too much tesserae, not like the scores I've taken, just since I turned twelve in January.

There are a lot of boys it could be, too. Maybe one of countless boys who asked me out, despite the fact that I'm really not interested in dating at twelve-year-olds. That doesn't matter to them, so why should going into the Hunger Games matter? Oh, right, they'd be dead.

District 12 hasn't had a Victor since the 102nd Games. That will likely make this the forty-eighth consecutive year we have gone with a victory. Our last Victor, Kalina Nightingale, is a bit of a recluse. The only time I've ever seen her is at the Reapings.

I defeatedly open the front door of our house. Mom is seated at our table in our two-room house (really one room, since the second is just the bathroom) with a mug of heated water in her hands. "Hi, Liana," she says with a smile. "How was your walk?"

"Fine," I say, setting my drawing in the cabinet with all the others. Once we get enough money, I will go on a painting spree. I keep drawing things with the intent to paint them, but never have enough money. "I talked to Corolla Fenno from the candy store."

"Oh? How was that?"

I shrug. "Fine. Corolla is just so… talkative."

Mom nods. "I understand. But honey, you really should try to make more friends. You can't spend the rest of your life drawing at sunrise."

"I know," I reply dubiously. "It's just nice and quiet at this hour."

Together, Mom and I make breakfast. It's just bread, a weak broth and water, but at least we're not starving. We sit at the table and silently eat. Neither of us are very conversational.

After we finish eating, I sit down in front of the T.V. and starting drawing. I draw a wolf, howling at the moon, in the midst of a forest I've never been in, nor will I ever be in.

I jump as the T.V. turns on in front of me. We normally only get T.V. when there's a mandatory viewing going on. Reaping Day is an exception, I suppose.

It shows the live Reaping in District 2. Both of the tributes are volunteers. The audience seems really unhappy when the boy volunteers—he must have not been supposed to. I shrug. I wonder if either will be the Victor this year.

I can't imagine that anyone would want to go into the Games so much that they would volunteer at twelve years old. That takes a lot of guts. I may be a bit of risk-taker, but I'm definitely not _that_ crazy.

There's lot of close up shots of the tributes, before it jumps to District 3, which is just starting. Finally, I look back down at my drawing and ignore the T.V.

I'm not sure how long I sit here, in front of the T.V. with the faces of dead-men-walking on the screen, but I do know that I drew six wolves, a sketch of the boy from 6, and two and a half pictures of cats before I had to go to the Reaping.

As I pull on my jacket, I can't help but wonder who will be going to the Capitol to fight all those kids I saw on the T.V. In a spur of the moment decision, I tuck the drawing of the boy from 6 into my pocket.

I join Mom out on the street. We start back through the Seam and into the merchants' side of town, A.K.A. the better side.

"Alright, Li, go sign yourself in," Mom says as she heads for the spectators area.

I get my finger pricked and I head into the girls' section. I can see groups of friends standing in little clumps, whispering nervously. I see Corolla with her posse and quickly avert my eyes. Nonetheless, she waves me over.

"Oh, I'm so nervous!" one of Corolla's friends exclaims. "I can't imagine being picked!"

"I know!" another one gushed. "It would be terrible!"

 _Drama queens_ , I think.

"Are you nervous, Liana?" Corolla asks. "I am."

I shrug. "I guess."

"Oh, I wish I was as confident as you!" one of Corolla's friends cries.

Before anyone can say another word, our district escort, Prescott Rutherford, takes to the stage, boisterous as ever. "Hello, District 12!" he yells, not even bothering with the microphone. "Welcome to the Reaping for the One-Hundred-And-Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games!"

His proclamation is met with silence. Still, he brushes this off and continues. "Now, it's time for the video!"

Does anyone pay attention to the video? I certainly don't.

The video finishes, and Prescott heads over to the girls' bowl. He quickly plucks a name and unfolds it right beside it.

"Liana Arla!"

I freeze. Corolla and all her friends move away from me like I suddenly came down with a highly contagious disease. I look around, slowly moving forward, and decide then and there that I will not be pushed around. I saw the tributes I'll be up against today. I can best them. I've got this.

Look out, Kalina Nightingale, you're getting a new neighbor.

 **Joba 'Big Jo' Hatch's POV**

I watch the small boy, maybe one year older than me, ducking out of the bakery with three whole loaves of bread under his jacket. He mixes into the crowd in the square, peering into an alleyway before slinking into it. Perfect. I can get the bread from him, then report him to the Peacekeepers for some extra cash.

I follow him into the alley. He won't notice me until it is too late.

I approach him and tap him on the shoulder. "Give me the bread and no one gets in trouble."

He knows I'm lying. He recognizes me. He knows he's in for it now. "I-I-I need it to feed my family."

"We all got problems, kid, I don't care about yours," I reply coolly. "Just gimme the bread."

"I-I-I c-can't!"

I roll my eyes, tired of this. I reel my fist back and nail the kid in the nose. He stumbles backward, clutching his nose as blood spurts from it. "Want more?" I taunt. "Gimme the bread, an' I'll let you off easy."

"N-n-no!"

I grab his shoulders and throw him against the alley wall. He slides down the ground, shaking. I punch his chest, and the air audibly leaves his lungs. He falls sideways, laying sprawled out on the dirt.

"What's ya name, kid?" I whisper in his face. "What's ya name?"

"I-I-I w-won't tell y-you!"

Easily, I grab his left arm and snap it. He cries out. "Give me ya name, kid!"

"J-j-jasper!" he wheezes. "J-jasper O-o'Hare!"

I stand up, giving him one last kick in the stomach. I root through his jacket and produce the three loaves of bread. Whistling, I take a large bite out of one of the loaves. They're still warm. Nice.

I make my way through 12 and back to the Community Home. I watch the other kids inside, with their drawn faces and hopeless eyes, and just _dare_ them to talk to me, ask me for a piece of bread, even look at me the wrong way. I laugh raucously and start mounting the stairs.

We're supposed to share a room with about four other kids here. I don't, however, and haven't for years. Around five months after I arrived here, I got tired of my roommates and bullied the caretakers into making them all move out.

I set my loaves on the dresser and head back out. It doesn't take me long to find a Peacekeeper and tell them about a boy named Jasper O'Hare who stole three loaves of bread from the bakery earlier today. He nods, money changes hands, that's that. I slide the money into my pocket and head to the Reaping.

There are glares. But no one even looks my way. They whisper behind hands, so quiet they think I can't hear them. Oh, well, I'll get them later. Once this stupid waste of time is over, where two random kids go off to the Capitol to die. I see our only Victor, Kalina Nightingale, and I almost laugh. She's so pathetic. If I were to win the Hunger Games, I would be the best Victor anyone had ever seen. I would have the highest kill record of all time. I would personally kill at least on tribute from each district. The Capitol would love me, but I wouldn't care. The Capitol can go die in a hole.

Prescott something-or-another, I don't care enough to learn his name, or anyone's name, if I'm not turning them in to the Peacekeepers. He picks some brown-haired Seam girl, surely she'll die soon, won't she? She's a dead-man-walking, not that I care about her. I wonder if her death will be bloody. I hope it will be.

"Joba Hatch!"

For the first time in years, this name garners a response from the audience. They cheer, at least the younger ones do, but all I do is scowl. If looks could kill, everyone in this square would be dead. I strut to the stage. After all, someone has to win, don't they? I've got a one in twenty-four chance of winning these stupid things, and I'll be up against a bunch of dumb twelve-year-olds.

I mount the stage and grab the microphone Prescott never used. "You think I'm already dead, but someone's gotta come home! I'll be back, and when I am, you'll all be sorry you ever laughed and cheered!" I look over at the girl, whatever her name is. "My first kill'll be this girl, right here! You'll see."

 **Liana Arla's POV**

"Oh, Liana!"

Mom pulls me into a tight, bone-crushing hug. "Oh, my baby. Oh, my little baby Liana."

"Mom, I've got this." I close my fist around the drawing of the boy from 6. "I'm already looking at good allies. I was watching the other Reapings live today. I think I've really got a good chance." I swallow thickly, thinking of Joba and his declaration that I would be his first kill. "Really, I do."

"That boy, Joba," Mom says. "He's scary, isn't he? And what he said…"

"Don't worry, Mom," I assure her. "He'll never get the chance. I promise."

She kisses my forehead. "Come back, Liana." She hands me the only paintbrush I own. I was going to use it to paint all the drawings I've made.

"When I do," I say. "I'll paint the square. I'll paint the sunrise. I'll paint the tributes from these Games. I'll paint everything I've ever drawn. I'll have so much paint we'll need a second house to store it all."

Mom hugs me again. "We'll have all the paint in the world for you, baby."

The door opens. Mom leaves slowly, calling one last 'I love you' before the door closes.

I slip the paintbrush into the same pocket as the drawing of the boy from 6. I'll give it to him when I propose our alliance. Everything is going to be okay.

 **A/N: FINALLY! FINALLY, I FINISHED THE REAPINGS! LET'S HAVE A PARTY. Extra brownie points to anyone who finds a good rave cave.**

 **What do you guys think of Liana and Joba? Are either Victor material? Now that we've seen all the tributes, who do you think is going to be the winner? I might put a poll on my profile where you can vote for your favorite tribute. I'm excited to see what you guys think of them all.**

 **Train rides should be out by Monday, hopefully. I would say Sunday but I'm going to see Captain Marvel with my friends tomorrow so I probably won't have much time to write.**

 **-Amanda**


	14. Trains Rides and Terrible Feelings

**A/N: And here we have the train rides! Also, now that the reapings are done, I'm going to change the POV markers. (example: Liana Arla's POV will become Liana Arla, District 12 Female)**

 **I know some POVs are way longer than others, and I should try to even them out more, but sometimes it just makes sense to end it there, you know?**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 13 – Train Rides and Terrible Feelings**

 **Cash Quinneton, District 1 Male**

As soon as we finish with goodbyes, they whisk us away from the Justice Building and through the streets of 1. A feeling of foreboding has settled over my ribcage, slowly tightening around my torso. I can't explain it—Coin says everyone will kill when the time comes, but sometimes I think I won't. Is that why I feel so weird? Because I am going into the Hunger Games, where it's either they die or you do?

I shake my head as we head through the train station, filled with reporters and flashing cameras. I flash a dazzling smile to the crowd. I have to remember that I chose to do this. If the people at the Academy really didn't think I had any potential, they wouldn't have put me as the top volunteer. It would have been someone else, like Topaz de Martin or Charming Ross. But they chose me, and here I am.

We enter the train, quickly being sealed off from the adoring reporters and stuck on a speeding vehicle with Clementina, Money and some other Victor from District 1.

Coin flops down on a couch in the dining car as Money and Peridot Nero enter from the other end. Peridot sits down with Coin, and they quickly start talking in hushed tones. Coin keeps looking over at me.

I sit at the table with Money.

"So," I say. "What's the plan?"

Money just shakes his perfect blond head. "Think about it, Cash. What chance do you really have? You should have given up while you were ahead."

His remark has me taken aback. "I should _give up_?" I spit out. "Who do you think I am? Some weak, sniveling, terrified outlier? I'm a Career!" I throw a furtive glance at Coin. Both she and Peridot have stopped talking. "Coin says everyone kills when the time comes, and—"

"But you won't," Money says simply. "I've seen your scores. You weren't the best in the Academy. They put you in here because they could afford to lose someone so hopeless."

For possibly the first time in my life, I've been stunned into silence. "I'll show you!" I yell. On the other side of the room, Clementina jumps about a foot in the air and says something about manners. "I'll show you all! In two weeks' time, I'll be the only one left, and you'll come crawling back to me!" I lean across the table, getting as close as I can to Money's face without laying right on the wood. "I show you a Victor. I'll be the best Victor 1 has ever had. I'll show you how it's done."

With that, I turn around and storm out of the dining car, seeing red.

 **Jaz Tammel, District 3 Female**

The tears are still flowing when we arrive at the train station. My district partner gives the reporters a half-hearted smile, but I can't muster up the energy to. It feels like the life is slowly being sucked from my body, and it will all lead up to my death in five days.

I would like to retreat to my room as soon as we get on the train, but Alenius makes me stay to at least greet the mentors.

Thalia Eames and Aaron Tarentello aren't your average District 3 Victors. Thalia racked up four kills before the finale even happened, then got one more on the last night. And you can bet she didn't do anything related to technology in the arena. Not that there was much she could have done—I'm fairly certain her arena was a tropical island that was so small that if all the tributes held hands, they could span the length of it.

I shudder involuntarily. I hope the arena isn't like that, at least for the others' sake. It's not like I'll ever have to worry about the arena. Before that is even a problem, I will be dead.

I don't remember Aaron's games. Both Aaron and Thalia won before I was born, but they showed Thalia's games in school a lot. Aaron's must have been fairly boring. I don't think he is a very popular Victor.

I know they managed to bring a tribute home not long ago. Maybe it was the 143rd? No, that's not right.

I hope they can do the same for Bennett, since they can't do it for me.

I sit down at the table beside Bennett. Thalia sits across from me, clearly sizing me up. "So, you're Jaz, right?"

I nod half-heartedly.

She smiles sympathetically. "I don't like it when tributes give up before they even see the competition."

"I don't have a chance," I reply. "I'm a dead man walking."

"I don't like that mentality," she says. "That's not the way you win."

"I don't want to win."

She shakes her head, correctly diagnosing me as a lost cause. She turns to Bennett, who is deep in conversation with Aaron. I dejectedly get up, grabbing a cinnamon bun from the tray on the table and start walking to my room. After I ask Alenius where my room is, I take a big bite. If I'm going die, I might as well enjoy what the Capitol has to offer, right?

When I reach my room, I flop on the large, fluffy bed. It makes a little _boof_ sound as I sink onto the mattress, sending dust up into the air. I get the feeling they don't have much of a use for a tribute train when the Games aren't going on.

I don't really know how long I lay there. But I do know that the only thing that stops me from staying there forever is Alenius's voice telling me it is time for dinner, and then the following grumble of my stomach that reminds me I had to enjoy all the interesting Capitol food choices.

We have an elaborate dinner consisting of seventeen varieties of sushi. As it turns out, I'm not a fan of seafood. I go back to bed on an almost empty stomach.

 **Kiran Comaydos, District 5 Male**

It's clear from the moment we enter the train station that Wren will forever overshadow me. Being an outlying volunteer from a District that hadn't had a Victor in twenty four years makes her very interesting. Surely the Capitol will love her and forget about me.

The mentors seem to care more about her than me as well. Ave Samenfeld and Solaryn Duke-Dare certainly aren't very interested in the tall, scruffy reaped kid when they could have strong, tough volunteered Wren.

Solaryn won the last Quarter Quell. This should make me feel more confident in my chances, but the fact that the last two Victors from 5 one consecutive years certainly doesn't.

We sit at the T.V. and watch the Reapings that have already happened and District 6 live. The six careers this year all look deadly—but then there is the boy from 2, who was jeered and yelled at when he volunteered. Why? Do they just not like him? Was he not supposed to volunteer? I really don't think it matters who volunteers. It would be much easier on us outliers if there were just no volunteers allowed.

The pair from 1 being twins could change the games, Solaryn tells us. I don't believe him. They're Careers either way, and if it came down to just them, I bet they wouldn't hesitate to kill each other. If me and Wyatt were put in the Games, and we were the final two, I would die so Wyatt could go home. But I don't think Careers have the same mentality about their siblings. They probably see them as rivals or something.

"So, Wren," Ave says stoically. "Tell us. Why did you volunteer?"

Wren's face is conflicted, her big owl glasses magnifying her features. Finally, she says, "I think I have a good chance. And it will help my family a lot if I win…"

Ave seems content with that answer, but Solaryn clearly isn't. "Really?" he exclaims fiercely. "You volunteered for that?"

"Well, yeah…" Wren says, seeming confused by Solaryn's reaction.

"You could die," Solaryn continues. "By volunteering, you basically signed your own death warrant."

"That's not true!" Wren yells. "I can fight better than any other outlier in these games! I have the skills and the determination to win! I don't need your help!" She turns around, stomping out the dining room and down the hall. The door slides shut behind her, leaving the rest of us sitting in stunned silence.

"So… um, Kiran, what are your strengths?" Ave asks awkwardly.

"Uh," I say. "Well… I'm kinda smart. I'm a bit of an optimist…"

Solaryn sighs, throwing his head back. He mutters something about clearly hopeless tributes. Ave puts her hand on his arm and says, "Optimism is good. Just don't have too much of it, okay? You need to be able to see things in the light they really are."

"Okay," I say noncommittally.

Silence stretches between us. I play with my hands in my lap, messing with the wire bracelet Dad had given me in the Justice Building. Suddenly I stand up. "I, um, I'm going to go take a nap." My voice is too loud. So obviously fake.

Ave and Solaryn say nothing as I leave, following Wren's path down into the hallway. As I pass the door marked _female tribute_ , I can hear yelling and things being thrown from inside. Sighing, I enter the room next to it.

I decide to try out the fancy Capitol shower. We don't have many showers in 5, but my family has one. However, it's not up to Capitol caliber.

I undress and get into the shower, pressing a button that shows water coming from a showerhead. The water blasts down from the showerhead, making me stumble back against the wall in surprise. I laugh despite myself and start pushing random buttons.

Fifteen minutes later, I get out of the shower, smelling like an odd mixture of roses, the ocean, cinnamon, watermelon and fresh cut grass. I'm still laughing as I get dressed in an outfit the Capitol provided, somehow in my size. A grin is still on my face when Pippa comes to get me for dinner. She looks at me oddly. I don't really mind though. Maybe I can win this after all. And if I can't, there's no point in being all depressed beforehand.

 **Echo Shamir, District 7 Male**

As we drive through the streets of 7, I can't help but think about what I've just done. If the Capitol finds out…

I mentally shake the thought away. I'll be careful. And it won't matter once I get home. As long as I don't lose any limbs or something like that, Shallow can go out and do the Victor things. I can stay home and unwind from the Arena. Everything will be fine.

When we get off at the train station, I smile at all the cameras, posing with Macy for a few pictures. Macy is grinning from ear to ear, beaming at the crowd like nothing in her life is wrong. I consider asking her to ally. She seems trustworthy, and district partners often stick together.

Once we get onto the train, all my thoughts of allying with Macy get stabbed several times. Sitting on a couch in the dining car is Larken Atkinson, Victor of the 135th Hunger Games. Every year he has mentored, he has tried to convince his tributes to go solo. It worked for him, so he thinks it should work for everyone. Obviously, it doesn't, since 7 has only had one Victor since he started mentoring. I know immediately that I'm not going to take that piece of advice.

As soon as I stop worrying about Larken, I focus on the impressive spread of food in front of me. I sit at the table, trying to figure out what I'm going to eat first. It all looks so good! I need to eat all of it, I need to try everything, I want to eat every single thing the Capitol has ever made—

Just as I reach for a plate of sandwiches, Larken starts to talk. He glares so hard I retract my hand.

"So, Shallow," he says. "We need to come up with a plan for how you're going to win." He looks me up and down. "What are your strengths?"

"I'm fast," I say. "I can fight. I'm good with axes, knives, a bow…" I tick the things off on my fingers. "I can swim, too."

He nods, clearly pleased. "I've got some ideas. First, avoid allies. I would recommend against joining the Careers, as well."

Across the room, Macy's mentor, Cypress Cinderwood, rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"You want a good training score," Larken continues. "You don't want one so high that the Careers will target you, but you want one that is high enough that they won't write you off as weak."

"Why?" I exclaim. "Wouldn't it make more sense to pretend to be weak and scared so they won't come after me?"

Larken shakes his head. "No. So many tributes have done that that the Careers know to be wary of them." He throws a pointed look over to Cypress, but she is too focused on Macy to see it. I try to remember her Games. Did she do pretend to be a weakling? Did Larken not approve of that?

"So what would you suggest?" I ask.

"Try to seem strong, but not too strong. Stay away from other tributes. The worst thing you can do in the Hunger Games is get attached to someone else," Larken says.

Sighing, I grab one of the sandwiches I'd gone for earlier and shove it into my mouth. I try a miniature chocolate cake as well, which tastes much better than the sandwich. I decide I'll have to find allies during training and not tell Larken about it. I don't know if I'll be able to survive without allies.

We sit down to watch the Reaping re-cap. Larken has comments to make about all of them.

"Twins?" he says about District 1. "That's ridiculous. They're likely your average Careers. Difficult kills, probably, but that's probably about it."

"I would say the boy from 2 is probably the weakest Career this year," he says when we reach District 2. "The girl, though, she's the dangerous one. Look out for her."

"Both bloodbaths," is all he says for District 3.

"I don't think we should write them off so easily," I say. "They could have hidden skills."

"Look, kid, I'm trying to keep you alive," Larken says. "I know my stuff."

I don't want to get into an argument with him, so I don't say another world.

"The girl looks pretty tough," says Larken on District 4. "The boy looks pretty arrogant. Likely an easy kill."

"A volunteer in an outlying district is something you can't ignore. The boy, though, he's a bloodbath. Weak, scared, the perfect bloodbath combination."

I decide, then and there, that every person Larken says is a bloodbath is going to be offered an alliance from me.

"The girl looks fairly formidable. I would watch her training score. The boy looks like he could cause problems, but he should be fairly easy to kill."

We watch ourselves on screen. I see Shallow go up to the stage after Macy. Cypress looks between Shallow on screen and me, and for a second I think she is going to call me out. But then she just shrugs and goes back to the Reapings.

"That boy will likely be a fairly difficult kill. Obviously not of Career caliber, but I would watch out for him. The girl, definitely a bloodbath. Even if she's stronger than she acts, the Careers will make quick work of her."

I glare at Larken. He's insulting the other tributes for being scared.

"The girl is weak. It's possible that she will make it past the bloodbath, but I would never bet on her. The boy is limping a little. However, he still looks like he could be dangerous. Watch out for him."

At the sight of the girl from 10 bursting into tears, Larken outright _laughs_. "A bloodbath if I ever did see one." He watches the boy, Rooster, for a moment. "Eh. I'd watch for him. Could be dangerous."

"That boy didn't volunteer because he's good, I'm sure," Larken says. "He looks depressed. I would imagine he will go in the bloodbath."

Finally, we get to District 12.

"I would think the girl would be go far, but with a boy like that… watch out for him. He looks crazy, which makes him dangerous. I have no doubt that he will follow through with his threat."

I lean back against the couch, happy that Larken's commentary is over. I turn to Macy. "Do you think that Liana could take on Joba—"

"No," Larken says forcefully. "there is no 'Liana' or 'Joba'. They are simply the tributes from 12. They aren't people, they're targets. If you know their names, it will make it harder to kill them."

Macy swallows. I stand up. "I'm going to bed."

Thankfully, Larken doesn't try to stop me.

 **Valentine Vizzolini, District 9 Female**

I just keep crying. I can't stop my tears. They just keep falling, faster and faster and hotter and hotter. Is it possible to cry so much you have no more tears left? Because if it is, I think it will be happening soon.

I'm so scared. My legs are sort of shaky. If this is how I am when I get reaped, what state will I be in when the Games actually begin?

The reporters take to Cornell quicker than they do it me. He seems more outgoing, more generally likable. He gives them smiles and poses. I can already tell he will get a fanbase—nothing like a Career, I would think, but there's always someone in the Capitol who likes every tribute.

Their reaction to me is much different: they see my wet cheeks, the tear tracks, my puffy eyes, and suddenly anything I could do to make them like me just goes out the window. I could have volunteered, declared to the cameras that I am the clear winner of these Games, and if they saw that I had been crying, they wouldn't care. They would think I'm weak.

The thought just makes more tears well in my eyes.

As we board the train, they spill down my face. I choke back a sob. Cornell reaches out like he wants to comfort me, but I turn my back and scamper down the hallway, away from the dining car. I find the door marked _female tribute_ , yank it open, and throw myself onto the bed inside. I cover my face with the pillow, letting my tears wet the fabric. Finally I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, not really seeing it.

The reality just never set in until now. I am actually going into the Hunger Games. I am actually going to die…

A sob forces its way up my throat and out of my mouth. I sink back into the blankets, sobbing. This is really happening. I have actually been reaped for the Hunger Games, at twelve-years-old, with twenty three other twelve-year-olds. In two weeks, all but one of us will be dead.

I roll over again, shoving my face into the pillow again. Eventually, I cry myself to sleep, and when Maximus comes calling for dinner, I don't even bother getting up.

 **Nora Caffler, District 11 Female**

Everyone is reeling.

Esmeralda, our mentors, the reporters, the entirety of Panem is trying to figure out why Axel volunteered. He doesn't seem particularly strong, or smart, or having trained previously, or… anything, really. I can't imagine why anyone would want to volunteer for these death games.

Our mentors, Meadow and Brice, can't figure it out, either. And Axel doesn't seem to be cooperating.

I dejectedly take a bite of the cupcake in my hand.

I guess it's just knowing that all of this is leading up to my imminent death. I take another bite. At least imminent death tastes good.

"You've got frosting on your face," Axel says.

"Oh," I say quietly, wiping my hand on my cheek. "Did I get it?"

Esmeralda makes a disgusted noise. I glance at her, sitting on the couch in front of the T.V. was a plate of quiches in her hand. "Sorry," I whisper, grabbing a napkin from the center of the table.

"So, we should go over some strategies," Meadow says. "Nora, I'll be mentoring you. Axel, Brice has you." Her face tells me she isn't unhappy with this arrangement. "Nora, why don't we go sit over on the couch and talk?"

I nod and follow her over to the couch in front of the T.V., making Esmeralda move. The emerald-colored escort leaves with an annoyed _humph_.

"What are your skills?" Meadow asks.

"I'm good at healing," I mumble. "But I can't fight. I'm fast."

"Okay, so here's what you do: on the first day of training, make an alliance, learn some survival skills. On the second day, focus on some sort of weapon. Learn to fight with a knife, or learn a bit of archery. You're not going to master anything, with only two and a half days to learn it, but you want to be at least semi-competent with something. You need to be able to protect yourself," Meadow says.

"Alright." I sigh. "Who should I ally with?"

"Other outliers," Meadow advises. "Avoid the Careers. If they offer you a place in their alliance, it's likely because they want lots of chances to kill you. But if they do, I wouldn't refuse. It will just make them dislike you. It will put an enormous target on your back."

I swallow and say, "Okay."

Meadow puts a hand on my shoulder. "I believe in you, Nora. I see potential in every tribute I've ever gotten, but I think 11 might have another Victor this year." She looks over at Brice and Axel. "And it's not him."

It's a good thing I'm sitting down, because if I wasn't, I probably would have fallen over. "You're… you're serious? You think I could _win_?"

"Even if you don't, if you're as good at healing as you sound like you are, you might save the life of the Victor," Meadow says conversationally. "But I believe in you, Nora. The Capitol may not, but I will. I've brought tributes home before, like Brice." Her smiles drops off her face. "But you have to remember: just because I say that you have a chance doesn't mean you need to get cocky or over-confident. It never works out for the arrogant tributes."

"I'll… I'll try my best," I say, and I mean it. I just hope I really do have what it takes to win. Deep down, I don't think I do.

 **A/N: I'm very unhappy with this chapter, but I guess I'm too lazy to rewrite it. It kind of feels like the same thing over and over again.**

 **Who do you think will be a bloodbath? Any alliance ideas? I've got a Victor in mind, but that might change. Who do you think will be the Victor? Reviews are always appreciated.**


	15. Parades and Pitiful Costumes

**A/N: And here we have the Parade! It's kinda short, but I think it turned out better than the train rides. I know it's not in District order like the last chapter had been, but some tributes I wanted to do before the rides, some during them, and some after.**

 **(And I know I said that Etta Snow, the president, was in her mid-thirties in the prologue, but if she is Snow's granddaughter, that doesn't really compute)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 14 – Parades and Pitiful Costumes** **(I literally named it this because I can't think of any good parade costumes)**

 **Wake Hammerfort, District 2 Female**

I've never been one for hygiene.

It's never really seemed important in the long run. And besides, why should I care about looking nice when I've got a Game to win? It's not like I'm going to pause mid-battle to make sure my hair still looks nice. I couldn't care less if the Capitolites think I'm pretty or not. I don't need sponsors to win. I'll win with nothing but my wit, physical abilities, and ruthlessness.

And then I can go back to 2 and finally, _finally_ rescue Wonder. It will be the best day of my life. I think I'll ask the Peacekeepers if I can be the one who holds the gun to Yoldan's head when they execute him. I'll be the one to pull the trigger, of course, and watch the light leave his eyes. Wonder and I can move into the Victors' Village, and everything will be okay.

"You have such lovely hair," a member of my prep team, whom I didn't bother learning the names of, gushes. "It's a very pretty color."

"It's _brown_ ," I say pointedly.

"Yes, but it's such a pretty brown." The prep woman twirls a strand of my hair around her finger. I jerk away from her.

"Stop touching it!" I exclaim. "Just brush it out, or whatever, and send me on my way!"

She shies away. Good.

The prep team falls silent. They stop with their gushing about my features, thankfully, and soon after they disappear. Peace and quiet at last.

I have to remind myself that once I win, there will likely never be peace and quiet again. But has there ever been? Even when I was little, even when I would go to sleep. There would still be the sounds of Wonder's anguish, there was still my mother's voice, there was always noise. I suppose that having the Capitol regularly peeking into my life is a small price to pay for Wonder's safety.

The door at the other end of the room opens and a stout little man with neon green hair enters. "Ah, hello, Wake. I am your stylist, Vespasian."

I can tell from the moment I meet this man that I am not going to like him.

 **Ariella Winters, District 4 Female**

My prep team all seem to take prepping District 4's tributes a little bit too far.

They are dressed in blue from head to toe, right down to their hair, skin, even their nails. I hate to break it to them, but the oceans around 4 really aren't all that blue anymore. It's this little thing called pollution.

But I take my mentor's advice and put up with them. Marine Derosa, Victor of 140th Hunger Games, certainly has an interesting way going about winning. She wasn't a Career, which means she has a whole different set of values. She views winning as a reward and not a give in. I mean, yeah, I watched the recap. The girl from 2 looks menacing, but doable. The pair from 1 are twins, which is just a whole other can of worms, one that I don't really feel like getting into.

Of course, there's also Brookley. Surely he'll join the Careers as well. We're not best friends, and we obviously can't be, but at least he's familiar. He has the tan of most people in 4, and he has a sense of humor. While ours are worlds different, he's not uptight like the tributes from 1 and 2 usually are.

I can't say I'm not nervous. I can't say that the idea that I might die hasn't crossed my mind. I know it's possible. It's just unlikely. The more times I tell myself this, the more I'll believe it, right?

One the members of my prep team, Breonna, makes a comment about my eye color. I sigh and roll my eyes. These Capitol people are so ditzy. I'm sure they've said the same thing about every tribute they've ever met. _Oh, your eyes are so pretty! You have such lovely hair! I love your curls!_ It's infuriating.

"I think we're done now," Breonna says. Cordell and Deandra both agree, and they scurry off, probably to make bets on who is going to die or something. I pay them no thought, now that they are gone. They're not my problem. I frown, sliding off the table they had me lying on, wishing that they had given me more to wear than this practically-see-through robe.

"Why, hello, Ariella," a voice behind me says. I whip around and see a lithe, purple-haired woman standing in the doorway. "I'm Arminta. It's very nice to meet you." She extends her hand, probably expecting me to shake it. I stare at it instead. Her nails are caked with multi-colored polish.

"I'm thinking of dressing you in something blue," she says. "I've coordinated with your partner's stylist. We've decided you're going to look like waves."

I'm barely able to stifle my sigh. Tributes from 4 are always either water-themed or fisherman. Well, sometimes they dress us like fish. At least Arminta isn't that ditzy. "Okay," I say.

"Let's go get you dressed," Arminta says, gesturing toward the door.

Reluctantly, I follow her out of the room.

 **Joba 'Big Jo' Hatch, District 12 Male**

"Your… um, eyes are… very nice," one of the random Capitol idiots who has been charged with dressing me up trills. "They are a very nice… um, green."

I roll my eyes and shove his hand off my shoulder. "Would you stop touching me, asshole?"

His stupid yellow eyes widen to the size of saucers, and he takes a step back. "On second thought.. um, maybe they aren't so nice."

Suddenly, another one of the stupid Cappies comes at me with a razor. I surge to my feet and throw out my fist, slamming it into her gut. She topples backward and lands on her butt. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

I snatch up the razor and brandish it at the other two Cappies. Breathing hard, I swipe outward, turning on the razor and trying to get one of them. They both stumble back, and I laugh at their terror. Such idiots…

And then a pair of guards charge into the room and seize me by the arms. "Hey!" I shout, struggling mercilessly in their grip. "Let me go!" In all my haste, I lose the razor, sending it crashing to the floor and breaking into pieces. I kick one of the guards in the shin then bite their hand. I elbow the other in the stomach, trying to get away.

More guards pour into the room, and one of them jabs a needle into my arm. I kick and punch, but I can feel drowsiness stealing over my body. No! What's going to happen when I wake… up…

 **Tesla Mercedust, District 6 Female**

I gently pet the black-spotted horse on its head. "You're a sweet thing, aren't you?" I whisper. "I wonder if you have a name." I pause, tapping my chin. "I'll call you Asva. As you fast, Asva? The real Asva, back in 6, is very fast. She's on the track team." I sigh, wishing I was back home with human Asva instead of in the Capitol with horse Asva.

Asva whinnies softly, pawing at the ground with her hoof. I sigh again, taking my hand off her head and walking back to the chariot. I'm currently dressed like a car. A red, skin tight jumpsuit covers me from head to toe, with an overlay like a car, also red, complete with a face.

Brandon is wearing the same thing, except that his is blue, and doesn't look any happier with the situation than I am. If we wanted to get noticed by sponsors, these outfits definitely aren't the right way to go. I suppose it's not going to do much in the long run, is it? The Capitol has to really like you to get sponsors, and I doubt I will be a favorite.

"Tributes, please make your way to your chariots," a pleasant voice says, somehow projecting through the whole enormous room. I take a dejected step onto the chariot and look at Asva. Is the real Asva watching? Will she be rooting for me? Well, as it stands, I don't think I'll ever know. Surely she is, though. We've been friends for years. The others are probably watching, too, rooting for me.

The first chariot, carrying the twins from 1, spray painted gold and wearing a golden tuxedo and dress, respectively, leaves the stables to the enormous cheers of the Capitolites. Soon after, the 2s, dressed as Roman gladiators, follows it. The cheers only get louder as more chariots follow the first two.

My legs are shaking. I'm shivering like I'm walking around in a blizzard, and I'm sure the Capitolites will be able to tell.

All too soon, the pair from 5, with miniature wind turbines sticking off their backs, are out, and we follow. I smile shakily, and the Capitol eats it up. I steal a glance over at Brandon. His face is stoic, which obviously isn't a very good strategy, but who am I to judge? I probably look close to tears.

The pair from 7 are dressed as trees, as per usual. This year, they also have actual tree branches in their hands, and they have to hold them up so they look like _real_ trees. Honestly, where do the stylists come up with this stuff? I would think that Shallow and Macy's arms would get tired, wouldn't they? At least I'm not from 7. I'm just dressed as a car with a face.

Alby and Avia are wearing a suit and a dress which look similar to quilts. It's a big array of color and fabric and textures, which I can't imagine is very comfortable. Again, maybe being a car isn't so bad.

The pair from 9 are big stalks of wheat. Their costumes are so tall that I can hardly see the pair behind them, which turn out to be dressed as cows. _Again_. The stylists really are unoriginal, aren't they?

Axel and Nora are dressed as sunflowers. Probably one of the best costumes the stylists have come up with this year. I have to admit, Nora looks better, though. Axel just looks… sad.

Finally, the pair from 12 come out. Joba, the big, scary boy who said he would kill his district partner first, look kind of groggy. I can't figure out why. But anyway, they're dressed as canaries. I don't know much about canaries and coal mines, but all I know is that is usually bad. Maybe their stylists just really hate them. I suppose I can see it for Joba, but Liana? She doesn't seem very easy to hate, at least not yet.

With all the tributes out now, I sort of get lost in the fray. I can tell favorites from the chanting. I hear _Liana_ , _Brookley_ , _Shallow_ , _Coin_ , _Wake_ … lots of names, but hardly any of mine. We do get a few roses thrown at us, though, and I even manage to catch one. It feels like a big achievement, seeing as my hands are shaking like leaves in the fall.

At last, the chariots come to a stop in front of President Etta Snow, who is really getting on in her years. "Welcome, tributes," she says grandly. "to this Quarter Quell, the 150th Anniversary, the 7th Quell." She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The chariots start moving again, and then we enter the Tribute Center. I sniffle once. This is really happening. The Games are really happening… I am really going into the Hunger Games.

 **Avia Kasiani, District 8 Female**

The first I do when I get out of this stupid costume is burn it to ash.

It's even dumber than the usual costumes for 8. In the twelve years I've been in existence, I've seen just about everything on the tributes from my district, but this one makes me wonder just how much my stylist hates me. She's probably just annoyed that she got such a 'weak' tribute this year, so she gave me something ugly and uncomfortable to wear. Seriously, all this fabrics mixed together is like rubbing sandpaper on my skin.

I take a sidelong glance at my district partner, Alby, in the same ridiculous outfit as me. I hold in a snort. Would the fabric look any better if it was stained red? Not my blood, of course, but Alby's. I could offer him an alliance right now, and then slit his throat in his sleep. He wouldn't ever feel anything. It would be peaceful, and it would make me closer to getting out of the godforsaken Capitol, back to life as it was.

But I know life as it was won't continue when I get home. My parents, while still gullible, sock-puppet actors, will be more careful. The door will be locked. And besides, I doubt I'll get much satisfaction or enjoyment out of making my parents chase me through the streets once I've won the Games. It won't be nearly as entertaining as being in an arena with twenty-three people to kill and manipulate. After all, the Capitol loves seeing their tributes in turmoil, don't they?

I'll give them turmoil. I'll give them so much turmoil they'll be drowning in it.

After the pair from 6 get off the elevator, we ascend the next two floors in silence. I sniffle, forcing a few tears out of my eyes. Alby doesn't react like I hoped he would. He just doesn't really seem the comforting type, I guess.

Koren Perez and Travers Smitty don't react, either. They've both won the Games, and from what I remember, they both had fairly high kill counts. I'm pretty sure they're engaged, or they might be married and have children, or something, I don't really pay much attention to our district's Victors. Or any Victors, really. But I will have to learn to put up with them, since they'll be my neighbors for the rest of my life, or at least until they kick the bucket.

Well, with any luck, they'll take all the mentoring duties, and I can stay home in 8 and not have to deal with… that. Besides, there are so many better things I could do with my time rather than watching two hopeless idiots get slaughtered annually. It's not my problem if a couple of idiots get reaped and I'm expected to help them.

As we get off the elevator, I don't bother going to watch the parade commentary with the others. I really don't care what the Capitol thinks of me. If they hate me, so be it. I can still win, with or without the Capitol's help.

Instead of following Alby and the mentors over to the couches, I simply keep walking, faster and faster, down the hallway until I reach the door marked with peeling stickers that say _Avia Kaisani_. Really? They can't even spell my name right? I yank the door open, slamming it behind me. As I close it, I see the misplaced _I_ flit to the ground. Good.

I flop onto the bed, hearing the muffled sounds of the Capitol partying below me. I start sobbing loudly, making sure the others in the living room can hear them clearly. The less people who see me as a threat, the better.

Eventually, once I'm done with my crying, I stand up and get out of the terrible parade costume. I throw it at the wall, and it slides to the ground with a dull _thud_. I put on some comfy pajamas and stalk over to the window.

All those gullible Capitol people… they, along with the other tributes, will believe my act, hook, line and sinker.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

Why is it always cows? Would it… would it really kill the stylists to have a little bit of originality? In every Games I can recall, the District 10 tributes have been cows. There are so many other animals they could dress us as. Or, they could not dress us as animals at all. There are plenty of people in 10 who don't deal with animals, at least not in that way.

My district partner is a perfect example of that. Rooster McCoy is notorious in our part of the District. He's stolen from me before, and I can tell he knows.

After all, who could forget the fat, upper class, trapper's daughter?

We get in an elevator with the 2s and the 7s. The girl from 2 seems to trying to kill us with her scowls. Her eyes are icy cold, glaring daggers at the rest of us. I quickly avert my eyes, staring out the glass elevator at the partying Capitol below. Do they really have to celebrate so much? In less than two weeks, all but one of us will be dead. Maybe they don't understand that. Maybe they think it's not real, that we're all alive and well at the end of the Games.

But deep down, I know that that is not the case.

It never is.

"Why don't you to go change, and then we'll watch the parade commentary?" Celinda Oxford, my mentor, Victor of the 139th Hunger Games, suggests.

I nod and slowly make my way to the room marked _Lammy Phyronix_. The golden lettering is peeling slightly. I step inside the room, surveying the bed, the window, the dresser. The Capitol is certainly gaudy. Pointlessly gaudy, it seems, sometimes.

Sighing, I undress, throwing the cow costume into the corner and putting on some pajamas. With a downcast look, I leave the room and rejoin Celinda and Rhett, Rooster's mentor, on the couch. Rooster is already there, his black hair looking very spiky and wild.

Will this boy ever fall for any of my traps? Will he end up with a Punji-stick to the foot? I've seen the damage those things can do to people's feet, and with any luck, a few tributes in these coming Games will know that pain as well.

I sigh again as the T.V. turns on, showing us the faces of Alastair McKinley and  
Orion Garnet, the Master of Ceremonies and the Announcer of the Games, halfway through their gushing about the twins from 1. The favorites aren't quite apparent yet, according to Alastair, but I know that the girl from 2, the girl from 1, the boy from 4, the boy from 7 and the girl from 12 are all up there, at least from what I heard at the parade.

Surely, the other tributes would be saddened by not being a favorite. I don't mind, though. If they don't think I'll go far, then they don't. I'll just have to show them that they're wrong.

I turn my head, looking out the enormous windows in the direction I think 10 is in. Don't worry, Dad. I'll be home soon. I just hope you can postpone the hunting trip a little longer.

 **A/N: Any favorites emerging? Either just for personality and backstory or likeliness to win? Hate anybody? Let me know! Reviews are always appreciated.**

 **I hope to have the first training chapter out by the end of the week. Should I do each day as a separate chapter, or condense it into one?**

 **-Amanda**


	16. Training Day 1

**A/N: I meant to have this out earlier, but my computer decided to restart while I was halfway through writing this chapter, and of course I hadn't saved, so I had to rewrite half of it.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 15 – Training Day 1**

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

I've been doing a lot of thinking recently, ever since Cash and Money's argument. I don't really know what to think. I can't really say that Cash isn't like this—he is. Often. But Money isn't. Money should have more faith in my brother, despite what he told me on Reaping Day. I can only hope that Peridot tries to help Cash in the ways that Money won't.

Everything seems to be spinning out of control. My mother once told me that the world won't stop spinning for one person. I think I took it in a different way than she did. Sometimes, I wish the world would stop spinning for me, freeze me in a moment that I never want to end. I have a feeling there will be lots of those moments in the weeks to come.

Now? I wish I could freeze the world right here, while I'm curled up in my warm, cozy Capitol bed and ignore the looming Hunger Games. But, of course, that's not possible. After all, the world doesn't stop spinning for one person. It doesn't stop spinning for anyone. Not even the entirety of Panem could make the Earth pause on its axis.

Sighing, I pull myself out of bed and pad across the soft carpet with my socked feet. I reach the window and look out into the Capitol. I can't even say it's waking up, since it never seems to go to sleep. I lean my elbows on the thick windowsill, watching the sun rise over the mountains in the distance. The whole of the Capitol is around me, trapping me and all the other tributes like caged animals on the way to the slaughterhouse. …when did I become so resentful?

A sharp knock on my door makes me jump about a foot in the air. "Coin! Get up!"

I turn my gaze away from the stunning sun rise and open the door. There stands Money, his hands on his hips like Mom used to do when she caught Cash and I doing something stupid. "Hurry up," he says harshly. "Training starts in ten minutes."

I roll my eyes and get dressed.

I join Cash, the pair from 7 and the pair from 11 in the elevator. The silence stretches between us, the tension in the air so thick I could cut a hole in it. The sad looking boy from 11 coughs into his hand, and the girl from 7 shoves her hands into her pockets, rocking back and forth with her big eyes—which I notice are brown—jumping from person to person quickly. The girl from 11 is looking at Cash and I like we might jump on her and rip her throat out with my teeth. I feel inclined to say _something, anything_ to let them know that's not going to happen, but at the same time, it is, isn't it? For all I know, all six of us could be dead in two weeks' time.

Finally, the silence is broken as the elevator stops on the training floor and the doors open. The girl from 11 is the first out the door, closely followed by her district partner. Cash and I are the last out into the training center. By the time we get out into the room, the pair from 11 have started on the gauntlet and the boy from 7 is trying (and failing) to tie some knots.

I pace around, watching Cash join the pair from 2 over at the weapons. Is there anyone here we can recruit for the Career alliance? I decide to approach the 4s first, seeing as they are often a part of the Careers. As I start heading over to them, I see Wake glaring at me. She raises a finger and beckons me over.

I sigh and change course, heading for the weapons instead of the fire starting station which the 4s were hanging out around.

"If you're going to try and recruit people, you'll have to run it by me first," Wake says.

Over her shoulder, Cash rolls his eyes. "Whoever decided _you_ were the leader of the pack?"

Wake whirls around, her hair flying behind her. " _I_ did. Besides, I'm clearly the best option."

"That's not true," Cash says defensively. "Why wouldn't I be just as good?"

"Because you're not," Wake says in a tone that implies it should have been obvious. She turns to her district partner—is his name Myrian? No one has ever introduced us—and says, "I'm the leader of the pack, right?"

Myrian nods. "Yes. Yes, of course."

"See?" Wake exclaims, jabbing a finger at Cash's chest. I notice she is a lot shorter than he is. "Myrian agrees." She rounds on me. "Coin does, too, don't you?"

Instead of pausing to wonder how she picked up my name when I still don't know the names of ninety percent of the tributes, I take a step back. "Uh… sure, whatever."

Wake turns back around and glares daggers at Cash. "I'm the leader. Period."

Cash's nostrils flare and he turns on his heel and stalks over to a rack of spears. He angrily throws one at a target. It hits its mark, but Wake is unfazed.

The next fifteen minutes are either the most entertaining or the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. Cash keeps throwing his spears, and Wake apparently decides to counter his skills by showing off with a strange weapon that looks like a hatchet on a chain. She cuts dummies to pieces, all the while glaring at Cash's 'futile' attempts to seem more skilled than her.

Myrian's head whips back and forth like he's watching a really intense tennis match, but they really aren't moving that fast.

I shake my head and head over to the pair from 4.

 **Brookley Lepplings, District 4 Male**

I see the girl from 1 approaching us, her silvery-tipped blonde hair cascading down her back like she's in a shampoo commercial. I look down at the fire I'm halfheartedly trying to start while Ariella sits on a fake log, twiddling her thumbs while I do the hard work.

"What do you want?" Ariella snaps at Coin.

"I was just going to ask if you guys want to join the Career pack." She shakes her perfect blonde head. "Although, Wake and Coin are having a feud, so it might be better if you stay away." She puts her hands on her hips, staring of into space. I look behind her, seeing Wake cut off the head of a dummy with a kusarigama. A shiver involuntarily runs down my spine. I shouldn't be worried by her. Who cares if she can use a weapon I can't? I'm still highly skilled with tridents, which I'm ninety nine point nine percent sure Wake can't use. At least not to my caliber.

"We'll do it," Ariella says, leaving me no room to get my own opinion in. Oh well. I was going to agree either way. I want to keep an eye on Wake. She seems like the type to be plotting something.

"Yeah," I say, standing up from my spot on the artificial floor.

Coin nods once and turns around, returning to the weapons with her back straight. She walks in a way that makes me think that she thinks very highly of herself. Well, do I really have any room to talk?

I turn my head and look at Ariella. "Should we go join our new allies?"

"Sure," Ariella says, her voice slightly empty. She eyes wander over my shoulder and toward Wake, spinning gracefully with her weapon swinging around her head. A scowl is fixed on her face, and it becomes clear to me that I will be doing a lot of argument diffusing in the days to come.

I follow Ariella to the weapons and grab a trident from a rack. It doesn't feel quite like the ones we have back in 4, but it will have to do, since it's the same thing I'll have to deal with in the arena. I slowly walk over to some foam dummies, attacking them with my trident, but my heart isn't really in it. No, I'm too preoccupied watching Coin ax a dummy to pieces and Ariella slamming bullseyes with knives.

Cash, meanwhile, has run out of spears and has gone to show off some mediocre skills with swords. Wake is still going strong, destroying dummy after dummy after dummy with her kusarigama. Myrian is dominating the bow and arrow section, although he doesn't seem very good at it.

These Games are going to be interesting, and likely scary with Ariella, Cash and Wake all trapped in the same arena. I guess it will all come down to who snaps first.

 **Brandon Hughes, District 6 Male**

When the girl from 12, Liana, approaches me at the camouflage station, I tense up. What does she want? Is she just coming to work on camouflage as well?

Sure enough, Liana kneels down a little ways away of me, grabbing a paintbrush and gently starting to paint her arm. She doesn't appear to be anything that can be considered camouflage—where is she going to camouflage with reds and oranges and yellows on her arm?

Eventually, I realize what she is painting. She is painstakingly covering her wrist, the back of her hand, her forearm, the entirety of her arm into a sunset. The trainer wanders over, probably to tell Liana that that is not going to do too much for her, but Liana just waves her off. A grin slides onto my face.

I walk over to her.

"Um," I say, swallowing nervously. "That's really pretty."

"Oh, thanks," Liana replies, looking at her arm like she didn't quite realize what she was painting. "It's a sunrise." I look more closely at her arm. The colors are blended together beautifully in such a way that it looks almost like a photo was pressed onto her arm.

"You must be good at art," I say semi-awkwardly. "I could never do that."

"I've had a lot of practice," Liana says, shrugging.

"Is there… is there any way you could show me how to do that?" I ask, indicating the paint on her arm.

She looks stunned for a moment. "Oh. Sure. C'mere." She waves her free hand, beckoning me over. As it turns out, I'm not very good at art. I try to paint a sunrise, too, but it ends up looking more like a yellow circle and a green blob. Once I finish, leaning back from my 'masterpiece', we both start examining it. "Well…" Liana says. "It's not terrible." Then we both burst into laughter.

I don't miss the girl from 2's glare.

Liana doesn't, either. She jumps to her feet, striding across the camouflage station. "What's your problem?" she asks angrily. "What did we ever do to you?"

Wake's glare deepens, and she stomps toward us. "What did you ever do to me? Hmm, I have no idea." She taps her chin, looking up toward the ceiling. "Oh, that's right." She stalks forward until she and Liana are practically nose-to-nose. "Only one of us gets out of the arena alive, 12, and—"

"And it will be me," Liana says curtly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, no," Wake sneers. "it won't. You'll see when you lie dead in the ground and I'm back in 2, visiting your district on the Victory Tour."

"No, _I'll_ be the one visiting _your_ district on _my_ Victory Tour," Liana says snidely. "Do you really think you have what it takes to beat me?"

Then Wake does something I never expected. She laughs.

Liana clenches her fists. "You won't be laughing in two weeks! You'll be dead in two weeks! You'll see!" She wheels around, returning to me at the camouflage station.

"What's that on your arm?" Wake calls. "Where are you going to camouflage with a sun on your wrist? The outback? The desert?"

Liana whirls around again, her fists clenched so hard they look like they might explode. "What did you just say?" I imagine that smoke should be coming out of her ears. "Say that again, I freaking dare you!"

Wake shakes her head. "Maybe I will."

"Do it, then!" Liana stomps her way back to Wake's face, stabbing her finger against Wake's chest. "Say it. I'm waiting."

"What's that on your arm?" Wake says in a mocking voice. "Where are you going to camouflage with a sun on your wrist?"

Liana grabs Wake's shirt. Wake tries to throw a punch, hitting Liana's jaw with hardly enough force to give her a bruise. I rush forward, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her off as Peacekeepers come from nowhere, swarming around Wake and Liana. Wake struggles in the Peacekeepers' grip, eventually throwing their hands off her shoulders. "You just wait, 12. In the arena, you're the first I get."

"Good luck with that," Liana says sarcastically. "And when you're finished, let me know how it went for you, okay?" Her words may be steady, but I can tell she is scared by Wake's threat.

The Peacekeepers separate them, and Liana returns to the camouflage station. She plops down on the ground, putting her head between her knees. "What have I just done?" she whispers.

I shrug, grabbing a paintbrush and sitting down beside her. I gently start brushing paint on her sunrise.

"What are you doing?" Liana asks.

"The Peacekeepers smudged your picture," I say off-handedly. "I'm fixing it."

"Oh," Liana says, looking up at her arm. "I guess they did." She takes a paintbrush from her pocket, dipping it into the paints and helping me fix up her sunrise.

Just before we vacate the training center for lunch, Liana presses a small, folded piece of paper into the palm of my paint-covered hand. "Don't open it now," she murmurs.

I tuck it in my pocket, deciding to abide by Liana's wishes.

Later that night, after dinner, as I sit down on my bed, I take the paper out of my pocket. I gently unfold it, finding a beautifully drawn picture of myself. Written on my forehead is the word, _Allies?_ in red marker. I smile to myself. Maybe I really do have a chance at this after all.

 **A/N: So this chapter is a bit shorter than the other ones have been (like two thousand words, :/) but I hope it was good. Our tributes are making friends, making enemies, and even more alliances will be emerging in the days to come.**

 **-Amanda**


	17. Training Day 2

**A/N: This took way longer than it should have, but it's here now! Updates may be more scarce until sometime in May, because I've got soccer and track starting which doesn't give me much time to write, but I'll do my best.**

 **Also, I hope there isn't anything wrong with the beginning of the chapter, my mouse started having a seizure or something.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 16 – Training Day 2**

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

The elevator is hot and stuffy, despite all the walls being made of glass. But the air isn't the only thing making it uncomfortable—Joba from 12 keeps giving the rest of us the stink eye, Macy from 7 is furiously scribbling on a small pad of paper, glancing up at her partner occasionally, and Wren from 5 has this look on her face like she is planning the easiest and cleanest ways to kill us.

I frown, shifting uncomfortably in my boots. This elevator cannot move slower.

Finally, we rumble to a stop in the Training Center. The doors ding as they slide open, a pleasant voice letting us know that we have indeed arrived at the Training Center. As Rooster stalks out into the gymnasium, I hear him mutter, "As if we didn't already know that."

I walk slowly through the Training Center. I glance fleetingly at the Trapping Station before I shake my head. If I go to the Trapping Station, the other tributes might be wary of traps. Well, they probably will be anyway, but I'm better off if they don't know that I can make them at all.

And thus, I wander around for a few minutes, wondering what I should be doing. Finally my gaze settles on the shelter-making station, where the pair from 7 are apparently arguing about something. I shake my head again and choose the spot farthest from them as I can.

The trainer walks me through how to make a basic lean-to, but my heart really isn't in it. I know I should pay attention, but I already know how to make basic lean-tos. Dad taught me back in 10 two years ago when we were out on a trapping trip and he sprained his ankle. He taught me how to do it then while we were out in the forest, and it meant more to me coming from him than it does coming from a Capitol trainer while I'm a few days from the Hunger Games.

At some point, the trainer gets up to break up Shallow and Macy's argument. Before she can, however, Macy turns around and stomps away, leaving Shallow at the Shelter Station with a look on his face like everyone he loves is about to die. I shake my head for the third time today, turning back to my basic lean-to.

As I spread a tarp over the roof of my lean-to, I can't help but wonder what Macy and Shallow were so worked up over. It's not really my problem—I shouldn't get tangled up in the affairs of the other tributes. I mean, after all, in one week, I could wreck Shallow's feet with Punji sticks, or I could be responsible for Macy's demise. But both of them seemed pretty down to Earth, and not hot-headed, but… I just know that I don't want either of them to be mad at _me_. I need to be careful.

Shallow ambles over to me. Does he want to talk to me, and trying to not seem like it, or is he just wandering? He stands there for a moment, staring off into space before he seems to notice me. "Oh, hi," he says amicably. "Lammy, right?"

I nod, trying to figure out where this is going.

"I'm Shallow," he says. I can't help but notice the way his voice shakes a little. "I'm, uh, getting an alliance t-together. Wanna join?"

I bite my lip. "Oh… um, I'm… I'm planning on g-going solo. Actually. So, um, no."

"Oh," Shallow says, his blue eyes shifting away from my face. "That's okay. It's cool."

I avert my eyes, nervous that I may have just put a target on my back. I don't want him to be mad at me like he was at Macy…

Shallow shoves his hands into his pockets, standing awkwardly as he bounces on the balls of his feet. "Okay, then, I'll just go over here…" he mumbles as he hurries off to another station.

As I lean back against a fake tree, a realization hits me like a tidal wave. These tributes, these children… they're just people, like me, like Dad, like Chick and Bernadette and everyone else in the world. And in order for me to go home, they all have to die. I was trying to be pragmatic. I was trying to see the others as targets, as animals that I have to trap. But I don't know if I can. I have to kill these people. They will have to be dead. Why is the world so cruel?

In another world, in another life, a life without the Hunger Games, without the District boundaries, Shallow and I could have been friends. But I can't even speak to anyone again, can I? Not now. I'll never be able to kill them if I see them as people. And I can't see them as people. They are targets. They have to die. Because it's either them or me, and it won't be me.

 **Nora Caffler, District 11 Female**

After Wake and Liana's fight yesterday, I've been on edge. I've seen Wake's cruelty, I've seen Liana's drive to win, and now I'm even less sure of my chances. Well, I was never necessarily sure of them in the first place. I've pretty much come to accept my eventual death. I just hope it won't hurt too much.

At lunch yesterday, I sat alone. I didn't even sit with Axel. He's feeling even more depressed than I am, and that is surely saying something. If I had volunteered because I hate my life _that_ much and wanted death _that_ much, I would probably be feeling happier, wouldn't I? After all, I would be about to get the release I had dreamed of, wouldn't I?

So I sat alone, but I'm going through contact withdrawal. There are people all around me, and I have the ability to speak to them, but none of them really seem to care. Meadow is really the only person I can talk to, but she is almost fifteen years older than me. It's just not the same.

I eventually decide to ask Valentine from District 9 if I can sit with her. She seems nice, and not likely to stab me in the back. "Um, hi," I say. "This seat taken?"

"Oh, no," Valentine mumbles, looking at her lap. "it's not."

I set my tray on the table, sliding effortlessly into the seat. "I'm Nora, by the way."

"V-Valentine," she replies, toying with her soup. "from 9."

"11," I say. "Um…" What do tributes in the Hunger Games usually talk about? The only things I can remember are never arbitrary. It's either about finding food, water, or shelter, avoiding confrontation, especially the Careers, and occasionally some sort of story they often use to gain sponsors. None of those things will be useful right now, considering that we aren't actually in the Games yet. "What's your favorite color?"

Valentine shrugs. "I don't… I don't know."

"Sure you do," I say nonchalantly. "Everyone's got a favorite color. Mine's purple."

"Like… like bright purple?" Valentine asks tentatively.

"No!" I exclaim. "More like lavender. A pretty, soft color. The way the sky looks at dusk."

"I… I like brown," Valentine whispers.

"Brown?" I repeat.

"Yeah," Valentine says meekly. "it's the color of my cat, Nutmeg."

"You have a cat?" I ask excitedly. "I love cats!"

"You do?" Valentine responds, her tone making me wonder if she thinks I'm just agreeing to be nice.

"Of course I do." I nod eagerly. "I don't have a cat, but there's this cat that lived in this alleyway by my aunt's house that I would feed sometimes. I named her Ella." I sigh. "I hope someone else feeds her when I'm gone."

Some people probably would tell me that I shouldn't just write myself off, but Valentine… Valentine knows just as well as I do that we don't have a chance. A thought strike me. "You know," I say quietly. "I think we would last longer if we worked together."

Valentine looks beyond taken aback. "You… you want to be allies with _me_?" she asks incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I like you," I say. "You're nice. You're kind. And you like cats."

She smiles nervously. "Thanks."

I beam back at her. I'm still not confident in my chances, but maybe it will be more tolerable with Valentine at my side. Who knows, it may even be _fun_.

Probably not, though.

 **Wren Willodean, District 5 Female**

As soon as we get released from lunch, I hurry to the weapons. The Careers have been dominating them, not letting anyone have a chance. The weapons are the best way to intimidate the other tributes. Hell, if the Careers want me to join them, I'll join them. It'll be a good way to watch them, maybe pick them off one-by-one.

Most tributes would want to keep their abilities a secret. Well, I'm not most tributes. The last volunteer from District 5 was in the 75th Hunger Games, where all the tributes had to be volunteers. Before that, I'm not sure there were any at all. And I'm prepared. I'm going all in. I chose to be here, and I want everyone to know that. I want everyone to know that I am here by choice, that I'm prepared, and I _will_ kill without hesitation.

I decide to show off my hand-to-hand combat skills, since I have first pick of the weapons. I see the Career Pack come into the Training Center all together, but none of them are laughing. I've heard that the Careers treat the Games as… well, a game. But these Careers are different. They don't laugh. They don't joke. They're quiet. They all seem to be watching each other, as if they are afraid that one of them is about to whip out a knife and stab them.

Cool it, guys. The Games haven't even started yet.

While I spar with the trainer, Coin from 1 leans against the railing on the edge of the Combat Station. She watches me with mild interest, but her eyes are sort of empty. She seems to be watching me less out of intrigue and more out of wanting to look like she's doing something. Scouting out the competition or something.

Once I finish with the sparring match, Coin beckons me over to the railing. "Hey, Wren, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say casually, but I can already tell where this is going. Oh, yeah, things are about to get interesting. "Coin."

If she is surprised by the lack of question in my voice, she certainly doesn't show it, just plowing on like she is just talking about the weather. "The others and I have been talking. We've decided to invite you into the Pack. Whaddaya say?"

"Sure," I say, mimicking her careless tone. "Sounds fun."

Coin gapes at me. "Yeah, sure, whatever." She turns around, glancing over her shoulder with an odd look on her face.

I smirk as I leave the Combat Station, looking at the Training Center in a new light. I can use the weapons whenever I want now. There's no Careers to stop me, because I _am_ a Career. I laugh a little as I take a knife from a rack. Things just got so much easier.

 **Bennett Weiss, District 3 Male**

"Hi," a voice behind me says. I jump about a foot in the air, whipping around like I'm already in the Games and someone just snuck up on me with a knife. "I'm Avia." Ah, it's the girl from 8. Her voice is sweet, nervousness edged around her tone like she's slightly terrified to be speaking to me.

"Bennett," I reply, standing up from the fire I was trying (and failing) to start. I dust off the legs of my pants. "Uh, what's up?"

She giggles. "Well, see… I was just over at the knot tying station" she points across the Training Center. "and I couldn't get this _complicated_ knot to work right. You seem pretty smart. Do you think you could come help me with it?"

I tilt my head slightly. "Uh, yeah, sure. I c-can do that."

She beams, her face lighting up with joy. "Great, thanks!" She grabs my hand, dragging me to my feet and pulling me across the gymnasium. Once we reach the knot tying station, she drops to her knees, pulling me down with surprising strength. "See, this one, right here?" She lifts a small coil of devastatingly tangled rope. "It's really complicated, and I can't get it right."

"Um, here," I say. "Give it t-to me."

Cheerfully, she hands over the rope, and I start trying to untangle it. I quickly realize it's hopeless and I set it down. "I'm s-sorry, A-Avia, but I don't think this is s-salvageable.

"Aw." She looks away, sticking out her bottom lip. "That's okay, though. We can get another rope, and then we'll figure out the knot together!"

She runs off to the trainer to ask for more rope. I shake my head, wondering how anyone _this_ innocent could have lived in Panem for twelve years and still be so sweet. I actually sort of admire her for that—or maybe I would, outside of the Hunger Games. But she's practically a dead man walking here, in the Capitol, as a tribute. And that's sad.

Avia comes trotting back with a new piece of rope. She settles down next to me on the fake dirt, slowly working out the knot. As it turns out, the knot isn't very complicated, but Avia is just not getting it. I figure it out quickly and easily, but even after I show it to her six or seven time, she still isn't grasping the idea. Finally she stands up. "It's okay, Bennett," she says, her face soft and apologetic. "Maybe you can show me again tomorrow, and I'll get it then."

"Oh, um, alright," I agree nervously. Avia is kind of pretty—in a way you never see around 3. "That's fine. Maybe we can try something else."

"Okay!" she exclaims, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet again. "Let's do some camouflage!" She practically skips across the Training Center with me in tow, looking as if she has not a care in the world. I feel my admiration for her grow.

She takes my other hand and starts trying to paint it like tree bark. She fails, but we both enjoy it. As I wash off the paint, she taps my shoulder. "Um, Bennett? I have a question."

"Okay," I say, cocking my head like a confused dog.

"Do you want to be allies?" she asks hopefully, her eyes wide with excitement and happiness. "I know I'm not much of a fighter, but don't people with allies live longer?"

"Yeah!" I say quickly. "I mean, yeah, of course. I'd love to be allies with you."

"Great!" Avia exclaims, throwing her arms around my neck. "I'm so excited!"

I smile, a sad, half-smile. "Me, too."

As we head to elevator together, I can't help but think about how my chances of victory just went up exponentially. Avia is right—she may not be much of a fighter, but she's sweet and happy, which I can get behind. Having an optimistic approach may not be so bad.

 **A/N: Well, how was it? What were Macy and Echo arguing about? Do you think Nora and Valentine will get very far? What about Avia and Bennett? And how about Wren joining the Careers?**

 **Hopefully, I will have Training Day 3 out soon. I'm not sure when, but hopefully by next Sunday.**

 **-Amanda**


	18. Training Day 3

**A/N: Here is the final Training chapter! I'm not quite sure of how I'm going to do the private sessions. I have an idea, but it's kind of bad so I might not end up using it. If you have suggestions, I'm always open to them!**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 17 – Training Day 3**

 **Axel Douglas Kohan, District 11 Male**

I really can't be bothered with the training stations. I don't care enough, and I have no reason to take up time the other tributes could be using to learn skills to help them survive. After all, I'm not going to be around much longer. The feeling is exhilarating, but for some reason, I can't even bring myself to care about that. Emotion sort of evades me anymore—ever since Autumn… and Dack…

I do, however, care enough to long for the silence death should bring. I could care less of what is beyond the curtain. I just want quiet. That's probably why I like sleep so much. It's dark… and quiet… exactly what I think death will be, except death won't even include dreams.

The Gamemakers probably think I'm crazy. For the past two days, all I've done is just sit at a random station, watching. Even when Shallow from 7 offered an alliance, I didn't accept. There's no point. I don't want to get their hopes up of having a good, volunteer as an ally. And so I sit. I've always been good at watching, just going unnoticed, observing the world as it carries on around me. In just a few days, it won't have to carry on around me. It will carry on without me.

Today, I considered not even showing up to training. After all, it's not mandatory. But my partner, Nora, convinced me that I should. She doesn't seem to understand. She's so… hopeful, so happy, so full of life, so completely different from me that it's hard to believe she's even real. I hope she wins. She deserves it.

Our mentors asked us this morning what we're going to do in the private sessions. I don't think I'll do anything. I'll probably just sit down somewhere and wait until they tell me to leave. Maybe I'll even take a nap.

Yesterday, I saw the girl from 8 talking to the boy from 3. I saw through Avia a while ago, but it appears Bennett has taken to her act, hook, line and sinker. That's kind of sad. I would probably tell him if I cared more. I'm just so tired. It's like my body is just preparing for death already. I'm just too excited, and now my body is just laying in wait for when it can finally shut down.

I sigh, leaning back against a fake tree at the camouflage station. I stretch out, crossing my arms behind my head. Behind me, the pair from 7 are talking about… something. I don't really care what they're talking about. Their problems aren't my problems. I can't even remember either of their names. The boy's name… something about 3-feet-deep pools? And the girl is something about weapons… I think. I didn't really pay that much attention.

With another sigh, I close my eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.

 **Rooster McCoy, District 10 Male**

With a smirk, I watch the big, 'intimidating' brute from 12 as he tries to scare the girl from 6 and the girl from 3. The girl from 3 is shivering, hiding behind the girl from 6 with tears in her eyes, but the girl from 6 has a look on her face like she is tired of Joba's crap. I hold in a snort. I grin, seeing Joba's token, an old, rusty coin sticking out of his back pocket.

I stalk forward nonchalantly. I _accidentally_ bump into Joba's shoulder, my hand effortlessly sliding toward his pocket and extricating the coin. "Oh, crap, my bad." As Joba glares daggers at me, I walk over to the girl from 6, slipping the coin into the pocket of her jacket.

As I walk sheepishly away, Joba's hand goes to his tokenless-pocket. "Hey!" he yells. "Where's my coin, assholes?"

Jaz stumbles backward, her hands up in surrender, but Tesla holds her ground. I hightail it out of there, swiftly climbing up into the rope course to watch the carnage begin.

"Give me my coin!" Joba shouts, bending over and getting in Tesla's face.

"I don't have it!" Tesla yells back. She clenches her fists, setting her feet wide. "I didn't take your stupid coin!"

Joba shoves her over angrily, the fight finally reaching the attention of the Peacekeepers. Tesla hits the ground, landing hard on her shoulder, and I see the coin tumble out of her pocket.

Victoriously, Joba grabs the coin and holds in it in Tesla's face. "Ha!" he screams. "You did have it! You lying little bitch—" Joba's shouts are cut short as Peacekeepers grab his arms and pull him away from Tesla. "I'm making plans, asshole! I'm gettin' my pissy partner, then I'm gonna go for you! I'm gonna cut you to pieces!"

I tense slightly. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. But then again, when have I ever had second thoughts about robbing people? After all, it's either Tesla or me, but I have to hope that Joba doesn't carry out his threat. Tesla clearly doesn't deserve to be cut to pieces. Well… better her than me. She's not my problem.

I lean back against the ropes, trying to get as comfortable as I can. I cross my ankles, watching the other tributes below me and wondering who might make a good target. I've considered trying to rile up Avia from 8 and see if I can get her to reveal herself, but I can't think of a way to do it. She doesn't have a token, and neither do the tributes from 2, which would also make good targets. It's unfortunate, really, all the tributes I would be most interested in making enemies between have no good way to do it. I suppose I could take Wake's weapon, but I don't want to be caught. I have no doubt she might kill me in cold blood, right now.

Well, she would probably end up dead as well. Fighting isn't tolerated before the Games begin, which is apparently many of this year's tributes don't understand, judging by the amount of physical altercations that have happened in the past three days.

I climb down from the rope course, resolving to wander until I figure out a better way to make some people hate each other. Kill lists are often long and easy to make, especially when it comes to the Careers.

Me personally, my kill list had twenty-three names on it. I hope to be able to avoid it completely, instead just tricking the others into killing each other. It's simpler that way, and frankly, less bloody.

 **Alby 'Al' Thatcher, District 8 Male**

The Training Center is cold.

They have the air conditioning turned up way too high. There's only like twenty four of us in here, excluding all the Gamemakers, and even those working with weapons aren't sweating. 8 is never this cold. If it was, Dad and I couldn't survive the winters. We'd get frostbite and hypothermia before we ever had to worry about food.

I walk through the training center, I watch the girl from 3 and the girl from 6 being taught how to throw knives and pass the girl from 8 painting something on the arm of the boy from 3.

The boy from 7 offered an alliance today, but I refused. He's been asking everyone if they want to ally, and I don't do well with large groups of people. Besides, I feel better going solo. Less mouths to feed. Less people to worry about. Less deaths to be sad about. The less I get attached, the better. The safer I'll be. The longer I'll live. The closer I'll get to home.

I can almost imagine the life Dad and I will lead when I get back to 8. We won't sleep in alleys anymore. We won't have to haggle for two-day-old bread. We'll eat actual meals, in actual buildings, in the Victors' Village. Everything will be okay.

I settle in the hammock-making station. I don't understand the usage of it, since there aren't many places to put a hammock if there aren't trees around to hang it in, but maybe it could span two buildings if the arena is a city and you make it big enough.

Even the instructor seems beyond bored. He drawls on about the importance of tight weaving, but I'm not listening, and I don't think he is, either. I quickly lose interest, standing up and leaving in the middle of the trainer's sentence. I head toward the gauntlet, where the girl from 12 is climbing around with surprising agility and the boy from 6 stands below, looking ready to catch her if she falls.

I shake my head, content to watch their antics and hum under my breath.

 **Macy Barker, District 7 Female**

I have a few theories.

I've rewatched the District 7 Reaping around seventeen times and finally got my theories together.

Okay, there's just one theory.

I've met Shallow Shamir before. The person he was then and the person I've spent the past two days talking to are two very, _very_ different people. Shallow was so careless, so happy, so nonchalant, and now? Now, I wonder if he's gone through some sort of terrible brain trauma, or maybe has randomly come down with split-personality disorder. But this Shallow—this Shallow is so serious, so stoic, so… not Shallow. After all, we went to school together for seven years.

I figured it out yesterday evening.

I was sitting in my room, looking out the window with my little notepad Cassiopeia gave to me when I realized it: Shallow has a twin brother! It's so obvious, I was kicking myself for not seeing it before then.

I remember Echo pretty well, too, but Shallow was always more entertaining to talk to. We got along better. We clicked. But Echo… I never talked to him much. He always seemed to pale in comparison to his brother. And now I've realized who I've really been talking to for the past few days.

I haven't been talking to Shallow Shamir. I've been talking to Echo.

Now, the only problem is that I don't know how to confront him. I mean, of course I'm going to confront him, have you met me? I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that my theory is correct, but I need to have conformation. And Echo is the only person that can give that to me.

"Hey, um, Shallow," I say as I come out of my private session. "Earlier today, I went up to the roof. It's really pretty up there. You wanna come up with me and see?"

"Uh, sure," Echo says, his confusion evident on his features. "I-I guess."

I grab him by the wrist and drag him toward the elevator. We head to District 12's floor, and as I pull him toward the little set of stairs off to the side, I hear muffled yelling coming from inside 12's apartment. I shake my head, only hoping that Joba dies before he can get his hands on me.

The wind whips around our heads, sending my braided hair into a tizzy. I sit down on the edge and gesture for Echo to sit as well.

"If you're going to suggest we jump—" he says, but I talk over top of him.

"I'm not going suicide, _Echo_."

It's a good thing we have forcefields, because Echo leaps backward in surprise, and I have to reach out and catch him before he falls right off the Tribute Center. "How—how d-did you figure it out?" he asks, not even pretending that I'm wrong.

"I watched the Reapings," I say simply. "And I've met you and Shallow before." I shake my head. "But don't worry… I won't tell anyone."

He breaths a sigh of relief. "Thanks…" He looks out across the partying Capitol. "They can't hear us up here?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," I reply. "The wind is too loud."

"Oh. Good," Echo says. "Um, so… Macy, I've been meaning to ask you for the past three days… do you want to ally?"

"Thought you'd never ask," I reply with a grin. "Of course I will."

"I hope you don't mind Cornell from 9 and Jaz from 3 and Kiran from 5 and Tesla from 6—" Echo stammers, grinning too. "I asked Lammy from 10 and Axel from 11 and Liana from 12 and Alby from 8 and Brandon from 6 but none of them were interested—"

"That's fine," I say. "Tesla is nice. Jaz seems sweet. Cornell seems kind. Kiran is funny. We should be good to go." I smile crazily, blinking away all the lights from the Capitol.

"Are you worried about Joba?" Echo asks softly. His voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it over the sound of the wind. "And Rooster is up to something."

"Isn't everyone?" I answer. "This is the Hunger Games after all."

"I guess." Echo averts his gaze, his eyes reflecting all the colors of the Capitol. "…I'm kind of scared."

"Isn't everyone?" I repeat. "this is the Hunger Games, after all."

Echo isn't amused.

My smile drops from my face. "Hey, if I'm being honest, I'm scared too. I don't want to die." I pause. "No one wants to die. No matter what happens, I think everyone still has some semblance of a will to live. I certainly do. So you don't have to worry. There will be no suicides today."

I stand up and give him a small smile. "C'mon. We better go back down, Shallow. It's getting late."

 **A/N: The final day of training is over! We are just two days from the Bloodbath! In case you can't tell, the Private Sessions weren't included in this chapter, I'm planning to sort of summarize them in the next chapter.**

 **What is going to happen now that Macy knows Echo's secret? Is Joba going to be able to carry out his threat to Tesla? What will happen to Axel? How long is Al going to make it?**

 **-Amanda**


	19. Private Sessions

**A/N: This is an idea I saw in another story, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was called, so I can't really give them credit… but, here you go. There's not a POV in this chapter, because I'm imagine it's just a document that the Gamemakers have.**

 **It's not really a chapter, and it kind of sucks, but here you go!**

 **Chapter 18 – Private Sessions And Training Scores**

Tribute Name: Coin Quinneton

District: 1

Age: 12

Score: 9

Tribute showed exceptional prowess with an ax. She threw five at moving targets, hitting all in fatal spots. Also showed an ability to paint camouflage.

Tribute Name: Cash Quinneton

District: 1

Age: 12

Score: 9

Tribute showed an exceptional ability to throw spears and hand-to-hand combat. Tribute flattened sparring trainer with a few punches.

Tribute Name: Wake Hammerfort

District: 2

Age: 12

Score: 9

Tribute was able to attack with a variety of weapons, but showed the kusarigama to be her favored weapon. Tribute was also exceptional with a sword.

Tribute Name: Myrian Cardiff

District: 2

Age: 12

Score: 8

Tribute's abilities weren't up to par with his partner, but he still showed an ability to fight and hold his own. He shot a bow and hit one bullseye, and he also showed an ability to fight hand-to-hand.

Tribute Name: Jaz Tammel

District: 3

Age: 12

Score: 3

Tribute successfully lit a fire, did some subpar camouflage, and completed two plant-identification tests, with a score of eighty-nine percent and ninety-two percent, respectively.

Tribute Name: Bennett Weiss

District: 3

Age: 12

Score: 4

Tribute was able to correctly identify plants and attack a dummy with a knife.

Tribute Name: Ariella Winters

District: 4

Age: 12

Score: 9

Tribute snuck into the Training Center, waited five minutes before we found in the climbing course, then showed beautiful ability with throwing knives.

Tribute Name: Brookley Lepplings

District: 4

Age: 12

Score: 9

Tribute was exceptional with tridents, attacking several moving dummies at the same time and taking down all of them.

Tribute Name: Wren Willodean

District: 5

Age: 12

Score: 8

Tribute showed exceptional prowess with hand-to-hand combat and physical strength, being able to fell three trainers at the same time.

Tribute Name: Kiran Comaydos

District: 5

Age: 12

Score: 5

Tribute scored three one-hundreds on plant-identification tests before hiding in the climbing course and waiting for us to find him, which took around three minutes.

Tribute Name: Tesla Mercedust

District: 6

Age: 12

Score: 6

Tribute set a few punji-stick traps and showed a fast sprinting pace. Tribute also showed an ability to fight with a spear.

Tribute Name: Brandon Hughes

District: 6

Age: 12

Score: 5

Tribute showed an ability to camouflage into his surroundings, but not very well. He also was able to attack with an ax.

Tribute Name: Macy Barker

District: 7

Age: 12

Score: 7

Tribute showed an exceptional climbing ability and an ability to fight with axes.

Tribute Name: Shallow Shamir

District: 7

Age: 12

Score: 7

Tribute showed a knowledge of the bow and arrows, knives and axes as well as climbing.

Tribute Name: Avia Kasiani

District: 8

Age: 12

Score: 2

Tribute showed complete incompetence with all weapons and forms of survival and spent five minutes trying to light a fire.

Tribute Name: Alby Thatcher

District: 8

Age: 12

Score: 5

Tribute showed a knowledge of how to use a knife and some survival skills, such as making a shelter and starting a fire.

Tribute Name: Valentine Vizzolini

District: 9

Age: 12

Score: 4

Tribute showed incompetence with weapons but an ability with many survival skills.

Tribute Name: Cornell Espench

District: 9

Age: 12

Score: 6

Tribute was able to light a fire quickly, tie a few complicated knots, and shoot a slingshot. Note: tribute appeared to be limping slightly.

Tribute Name: Lammy Phyronix

District: 10

Age: 12

Score: 6

Tribute was highly skilled with many types of traps and stealth.

Tribute Name: Rooster McCoy

District: 10

Age: 12

Score: 6

Tribute showed exceptional stealth and competence with knives.

Tribute Name: Nora Caffler

District: 11

Age: 12

Score: 5

Tribute showed an aptitude for identifying edible plants, knot-tying and climbing.

Tribute Name: Axel Douglas Kohan

District: 11

Age: 12

Score: 1

Tribute didn't do anything.

Tribute Name: Liana Arla

District: 12

Age: 12

Score: 7

Tribute showed exceptional camouflage skill and an ability to fight with axes.

Tribute Name: Joba Hatch

District: 12

Age: 12

Score: 8

Tribute fought in an almost brutal way against six trainers and was able to fight all off at the same time.

 **A/N: Yeah, so I hate this chapter. Really, it can't be called a chapter. It's just a list. But I couldn't think of a better way to do it, so here's what we got. Hopefully, I will have the interviews out within the next week, but that chapter is probably going to be pretty long. And then, of course, immediately following the interviews is the night before, and then, we have the Bloodbath! I can't wait!**

 **-Amanda**


	20. The Interviews

**A/N: I hope this chapter makes up for the subpar one we had last time. Anyway, we're just one chapter from the Games! I can't wait…!**

 **And wow, this chapter is long. I didn't know I had it in me.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 19 – The Interviews**

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

As the interviews, and more importantly, the Games, loom every closer, I just feel… emptier. I'm starting to consider asking the tributes from 3 if either of them know how to build time machines, because I would kill for one right now. Time travel or not, I'm probably going to end up with some blood on my hands sooner or later. The nervousness that entails is eating away at my stomach like I'm already starving to death.

Cash won't talk to me. He's acting like we have no relation whatsoever, never have met before, and definitely aren't twins. Money has messed him up more than anything the Games could throw at him, and I'm starting to wonder just when Cash is going to truly snap. I just hope I'm not at the receiving end of his spear, but I can't help but fear that I will. The Games change people, but other things can break you too.

My stylist, Septima, has dressed me in a mint-green, shimmering dress. The shiny fabric reaches my shoes, which are silver heels that make my toes ache. There's a silver belt, silver hair accessories, silver jewelry… why is everything so silver? Green and silver look fine together, but just… cool it, Septima.

As I am the first one to be interviewed by Alistair McKinley, the eccentric Master of Ceremonies, the Capitol will hopefully be paying attention. I don't really feel like going to talk to someone about my love life or whatever on national television, but since when has the Capitol cared about what we wanted?

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Coin Quinneton!" Alistair calls, his arm sweeping out in welcome. An Avox directs me out onto the stage.

"Hello, Coin," Alistair says cheerfully. "How if life going for you?"

I beam at the audience, but I have a feeling many of them can tell how fake it is. "Well, I'd say life is going pretty well. You?"

He tilts his head appreciatively. "Well, I believe I am about to go blind. You're just so radiant, I can hardly stand to look at you. It feels like looking directly into the sun."

"Aw," I say. "I don't think I look _that_ good." I turn my head toward the audience. "…do I?"

The cheers are deafening. I take a deep breath. "Well, there's our answer."

"Coin, I hear you are the sister of Money Quinneton, Victor of the 145th Hunger Games," Alistair says.

"Yes, he's my brother," I say. "But Cash is also my brother. We're very close."

"I find it very strange that you both volunteered," Alistair replies. "Was there a reason behind you and Cash's volunteering?"

"We were chosen as the best tributes 1 could offer," I say simply. "It's nothing personal."

The buzzer goes somewhere behind me. I walk off the stage to crazy cheers and applause as Alistair welcomes Cash onto the stage. Cash's outfit is even shinier than mine: it's a completely golden suit that reflects all the light like he's the surface of the sun. I have to avert my eyes as all the stage lights bear down on him, turning him into a golden ball of light.

"Oh my," Alistair says as he looks at Cash. "And I thought Coin was hard to look at."

Cash grins good-naturedly. "I think I look pretty good, don't I?"

"Very… shiny," Alistair agrees. "So, Cash: I hear that Coin is your sister."

"Oh, yes," Cash says. "But we're not very close. We don't talk much." He casts a furtive glance over to the side of the stage where I'm standing. "I hardly even know her anymore."

Alistair nods sadly. "Truly unfortunate." A smile flies onto his face so fast I swear I got whiplash. "Cash, does a bright boy like you have someone special back home?"

"Me?" Cash exclaims. "Absolutely not."

"Really?" Alistair presses. "No one to go home to?"

"Nope," Cash says simply, popping the _p_. "I really don't date. It takes away my training time."

"Ah." Alistair nods. "I imagine training is quite important to you and Coin."

"Coin?" Cash repeats defensively. "Don't bring her into this." He throws another look my way. I stare pointedly at my shoes. The buzzer goes behind us, and Cash leaves to general cheers. I think his outfit is blinding the Capitolites so badly they could hardly focus on what he and Alistair were talking about.

I grab Cash's shiny shirt collar and haul him over to the wall. "What _was_ that?" I demand. "'We're not very close?' 'We don't talk much?' 'I hardly even _know_ her anymore?'"

Cash straightens his collar and pulls his suit jacket tight, his movements radiating the superiority he clearly thinks he has. "I'm just speaking the truth, Coin. The Games begin tomorrow. We need to stop thinking like we are siblings, and more like tributes. District loyalty, and more importantly, family loyalty, means nothing to me." With that, he stiffly joins his stylist in the elevator, not looking back once.

I sigh. Let the Games begin.

 **Jaz Tammel, District 3 Female**

After Cash leaves, Wake takes to the stage. Her dress is strapless and blood red, accentuating the strange red choker she's wearing. It makes me think her throat has been slit, and she's a corpse walking. Is her stylist trying to say something? Is it an ill omen, like the canaries the 12s were dressed as?

"Why, hello there, Wake," Alistair says, taking Wake's hand. "You are looking quite beautiful."

Wake's face contorts with an emotion I can't name. "I may be pretty, but that has nothing to do with what I can do with a knife or a kusarigama."

Alistair's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Well, I would think so, after your performance in the private training sessions. I must say, I was surprised so many of you managed nines."

Wake reddens with rage. "I should have gotten a ten," she says tersely. "I don't belong in the same category as someone like Cash Quinneton."

I hear a few gasps in the audience. I witnessed the argument between Wake and Cash on the first day of training. I know that they hate each other. I have some semblance of Wake's kill list, and I'm just glad I'm not at the top. I'm probably around twenty-fourth or something, exactly the place I'll receive in the Games.

The buzzer goes off, and Wake leaves the stage to many cheers and deafening applause. Myrian takes to the stage, dressed in a shiny gray suit with his hair neatly combed. Alistair shakes his hand enthusiastically, but Myrian looks very uncomfortable. Even from my spot off the stage, in line, I can see sweat beading on his forehead.

"Myrian, how do you like your odds of winning?" Alistair asks.

"I-I, um, t-think they're pretty, um, pretty good," Myrian stammers. Behind me, I hear Bennett mutter, "he's almost as bad as me."

I shake my head sadly.

Myrian's eyes are downcast, looking at Alistair's shoes instead of his face. "I-I can, uh, can f-fight pretty well, and, uh, I'm p-pretty strong and—" Myrian clamps his mouth shut, his lips a thin line as he seems disappointed in himself.

"Alright, Myrian, I have one last question for you," Alistair says. Myrian opens his mouth to reply, but Alistair talks right over top of him. "When you get home, what is the first thing you are going to do?"

Myrian seems to contemplate this for a moment before he says, "I'm g-going to draw, uh, draw a… something. I'm, um, not q-quite sure what, right, uh, right now."

Alistair nods. "Myrian Cardiff, everyone!" he yells as the buzzer goes off stage. The applause that Myrian leaves to is subdued, and it seems to me like it's almost out of… pity. Well, I doubt it's much better than what I'm going to get.

I don't remember walking onto the stage. I don't remember the Avox directing me forward. I don't remember hearing Alistair introduce me. One minute, I'm off stage, the next minute… _bam_ , here I am, standing beside Alistair McKinley on national television, dressed in a short lavender dress.

"How are you feeling tonight, Jaz?" Alistair asks.

"I… um, I'm… nervous," I stammer. "Nervous. Really… really nervous."

"That's fine, isn't it?" Alistair asks, his head cocked questioningly.

"I-I guess…" I mumble. "I guess I-I'm kinda scared…"

"You have a right to, don't you?" asks Alistair. "After all, the Games are only a day away."

I inhale sharply. That's right. That's right. That's right. Oh god. I'm going to die tomorrow. I start taking in breath quickly and the ground sways slightly beneath my feet. "Oh… y-y-yeah… they… they do…"

"Jaz?" Alistair asks, real concern in his voice. "Are you alright?"

"F-fine," I manage between breaths. "J-just fine."

The buzzer goes behind us. I hurry off the stage, hyperventilating slightly, feeling sick to my stomach, as the Capitol claps politely. I want to go curl up in a couple of blankets, maybe get a good book and some hot chocolate and never come out again. I can't believe this. I can't believe that this is actually happening. …I can't believe I just started panicking and shaking on national television.

I'm so _screwed_.

I don't care what Thalia says. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. The small bit of hope I had flutters away like smoke into the ceiling on the room, probably joining the hope of thousands of other tributes, all of them dead.

I watch with slightly shaky vision as Bennett takes to the stage, dressed in a cream-colored suit. He looks sharp, much better than I do in my ugly purple dress. I listen as Alistair introduces him.

"I hear some alliances have been forming amongst the tributes," Alistair says. "Are you apart of any of these alliances?"

"Y-yes, I am," Bennett says, his voice drenched in false confidence. "With A-Avia, f-from, uh, from 8. She's… she's r-really nice."

Alistair nods pleasantly. "Of course, of course. I would think you two would make a very good pair."

Bennett swallows. "Y-yes, we, um, we don't—I mean do! W-we do! We're g-great friends." He turns tomato red, clenching his arms to his sides with his lips pursed. "I'll stop talking n-now."

That gets a few chuckles out of the audience, but I don't think that's what Bennett's going for. His head turns sharply in the direction of the Capitolites and his face only reddens further.

The buzzer goes, and Bennett leaves the stage to meager cheers and applause. I sigh. It looks like there's no Victor for 3 in these Games. Maybe next year.

 **Brookley Lepplings, District 4 Male**

After the pitiful pair from 3 vacate the stage, Ariella makes her way, dressed in a shimmering, ocean-blue dress. She has a golden necklace with a trident charm hanging from it around her neck. Her face looks mutinous.

"What a lovely dress, Ariella," Alistair says appreciatively. "You look stunning in blue."

"It's funny," Ariella says. "Everyone here seems to think the oceans in 4 are beautiful blues and greens, but they're more… brown. Like dirt." She shakes her head, tugging at her shimmering skirt. "The ocean gets prettier the further out you go, though. We don't fish as much out there."

Ariella clearly doesn't know what she's talking about. The ocean around 4 is polluted beyond repair, and it certainly doesn't get better if you go out further into the water. If anything, it gets worse. What kind of angle is she playing? Because if she thinks she being witty, we need to work on her definition of it. She's not doing a very good job.

"I'm sure there are nice oceans _somewhere_ ," Alistair responds. "If there weren't, where would we have gotten the idea?"

Ariella laughs. "I dunno. Maybe it's just a pretty color. Some fish look like too." She grins. "Either way, it's my favorite color." She twirls around once, her dress shimmering like… well, like the ocean, when it was the right color. "See?"

There are a few laughs in the audience. "Now, Ariella, I hear you have joined the Career Pack. What do you say to this?" Alistair asks.

Ariella's face tightens. "I'm not worried. There are some tough tributes in my alliance, but I think I'm strong enough to take them on. You'll just have to wait and see." She winks at the audience, which seems like a very out-of-character thing for Ariella to do. I haven't known her for very long, but she's playing an angle that I don't think she'll be able to keep up.

I hear the buzzer go, and then it's my turn. My outfit is also sea-colored, but instead of a dress (which would probably raise some questions) it's a suit. Personally, I think I look pretty sharp.

"Welcome, Brookley," Alistair says enthusiastically, shaking my hand.

"'Evening, Alistair," I say. "What do you think about my suit? The colors are pretty wild, but nothing like that boy from 1—man, I almost went blind when he was out here." There are many laughs in the audience, and I flash them a lopsided grin.

"You should try standing next to him," Alistair says. "Whew."

"I have a question for you, Alistair," I say, mock-seriously. I pause, for dramatic effect. "…Is there any sand in my hair?" I lift a hand and run it through my meticulously-combed hair like I'm feeling for tiny sand particles.

The Capitolites in the audience guffaw loudly. "I mean, my stylist did a pretty good job of getting rid of all it, but I feel like there might be a bit more…"

Alistair laughs good-naturedly. "There's no sand in my hair, of course?"

I pretend to examine Alistair's hair. I'm glad there isn't any sand on his head, because I would never find it. His hair is the color of honey, and sand would blend in so badly. "You don't have to worry, Alistair. You're sand-free."

The buzzer goes off stage, much to the disappointment of the Capitol. I saunter off the stage, pleased with how the Capitol received me. I'm clearly the best tribute so far in terms of popularity. I have charisma on my side, and charm, and good looks, while everyone else… no.

I stand off to the side of the stage with Ariella and Coin as Wren from 5 heads onto the stage. She walks with confidence, wearing a dark blue dress which is covered in little silver stars. Her owl glasses are tucked back into her hair, but it does nothing to make her seem less menacing.

"Hello, Wren," Alistair greets. "You are look very out-of-this-world tonight."

Wren affords a small smile.

"Do you think you're prepared for the Games? I think we'd all like to know what you did to achieve your training score of 8," Alistair asks.

"I think I'm plenty prepared for the Games, Alistair," Wren replies confidently. "I'm quite the capable fighter. I can best most people with nothing but my fists."

"One more question for you, Wren," Alistair continues. "Why did you volunteer for these Games?"

Wren is silent for a moment. "Well, there are a few reasons: one, the playing field is even this year. Everyone is twelve, making it much easier to get further into the Games. And two… I almost feel obligated to."

"Why?" Alistair presses.

"When I win, I can get my family out of debt," Wren responds. "All the debt that is my fault, it can finally go away. Everything will be okay again. I think playing in the Games is a small price to pay for a chance to save your family, isn't it?"

"I agree whole-heartedly, Wren," Alistair says, patting Wren's leg sympathetically. "Wren Willodean, everyone!"

The buzzer goes off and Wren joins us off stage. She breaths a sigh of relief and smooths out the skirt of her dress. "I think that went pretty well," she says to Coin.

Coin doesn't reply.

Good on you, Coin. I wouldn't reply either.

 **Tesla Mercedust, District 6 Female**

I nervously rub my bare arms. My dress is sleeveless, and the cold air blowing through the room makes it rather chilly. I wish I had a jacket, a sweater, a scarf, anything. But I suppose I should get used to being cold. The arena can go from sweltering hot to freezing cold in a matter of seconds. I need to be prepared.

My dress is light blue, like the sky, and has elaborate white designs dancing across my torso and skirt, which reaches my knees. I wring my hands as Kiran takes to the stage, dressed in an outfit that sort of resembles a robot, at least in the color scheme. I guess we can't all have good stylists. Me, personally, I haven't forgiven mine for the chariot outfit yet, and I doubt I ever will.

"Kiran, tell me," Alistair says. "what is waiting for you at home?"

"My siblings," Kiran says immediately. "My little sister, Della, and my little brother, Wyatt." He pauses, biting his lip. "My mom, too. She was in an accident in a power plant a few weeks ago… she was supposed to come home on Reaping Day. As soon as the Reaping finished, Della, Wyatt and me were supposed to go and take her home with my dad. But, obviously… those plans have been cut short."

The Capitol melts with sympathy. I just hope I can pull what Wren and Kiran have. If I play my cards right, I should be able to…

"That's horrible," Alistair says, his voice soft and understanding. "I'm sorry. I do hope your mother gets better."

Kiran nods slowly. "Yeah. Me too."

The buzzer goes off, and suddenly I'm replacing Kiran beside Alistair McKinley, all the stage lights bearing down upon me and sky-colored dress.

"Why, hello, Tesla," Alistair says playfully. "Fancy seeing you here."

I nod. "Um, yeah."

"When you get home, what is the first thing you'll do?" Alistair asks.

"Hug my mom and step-dad," I say immediately. "I miss them so much."

"Step-dad?" Alistair repeats. "What happened to your biological father? Divorce? Death?"

"He's in prison," I say simply. I fold my hands in my lap, glaring at the designs on my dress, really for no reason.

"In prison?" Alistair presses. "What for?"

I stare at the camera, the camera that is broadcasting my words to all of Panem, hatred blazing in my eyes. "He was an alcoholic. A drug addict. An abuser. Of me. Of my mother. Most nights he would hit us. He would take our money, and starve us, and when he didn't have any money, he would steal drugs and alcohol to feed his addictions. And we just took it, for years, until one day my mother finally got fed up and turned him in. And now, Ford Canters is out of my life forever."

There is stunned silence. I look around the auditorium, for a moment worried I said the wrong things. Do the Capitolites hate me now? Did I just sign my own death warrant?

And then they start cheering.

I think I hear the buzzer go off and Alistair is pointing for me to leave the stage, so I just do what he says and join the others off stage. Only a couple of the other tributes have stuck around to watch the rest of the interviews in person: Brookley, Wren and Coin. Wren tells me that Jaz staggered off to a bathroom during Brookley's interview, which I guess isn't all that surprising for Jaz. She's sweet, and kind, and smart, but definitely not very brave.

I watch Brandon walk onto the stage, albeit shakily, in his black-and-white tuxedo. His hair is neatly combed, swooped across his head in a kind of dumb looking way.

Alistair greets him in an over-enthusiastic way, like he's trying to shift the focus from me to Brandon. I clamp my eyes shut, wondering if maybe I went too far. But there isn't a way to take it back, and now I have (and all the other tributes) have to live with it.

"So, Brandon," Alistair says eagerly. "Do you have a special someone back home?"

"Actually, Alistair, I do," Brandon says conversationally. "Her name is Nova. I've had a crush on her for years, and I finally asked her out… on Reaping Day. We were going to have ice cream together and everything. We even kissed!" He looks away, toward the line of yet-to-be-interviewed tributes as if he'll see Nova there if he tries hard enough. Although, I don't know why he would want to. If Nova were here, that would mean one or both of them were about to die.

"Well, then you have to win for her!" Alistair cries. "You go out there and win for Nova, right?"

"Of course!" Brandon replies, his voice just as enthusiastic as Alistair, except his enthusiasm is real. "Me and Liana, we're gonna go out there and win—"

"Liana, huh?" Alistair says, cutting Brandon off. "As in, 'Liana Arla of District 12'?"

"Yes," Brandon says. "We're allies. And we're going to win."

"Only one of you can win," Alistair points out. "If it came down to the two of you, who would win?"

"Liana," Brandon says after a moment. "Liana would. Liana is stronger, she's more capable, she really has a chance in these Games."

"And you don't?" Alistair questions.

"…no. Not really," Brandon admits sadly.

I hear the buzzer sound, and Brandon leaves the stage so fast you'd swear he was on fire. He pushes past me, making my shoulder twinge with pain in the spot where Joba pushed me over yesterday, and disappears into the elevator before Alistair has even introduced the next tribute.

I try to make my sympathy for him go away. After all, tomorrow, we're going to be in arena where we fight to the death. There's no room for sentiment or district loyalty in the arena, is there? No, there isn't, which means I can't have any of it.

 **Echo Shamir, District 7 Male**

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, Macy Barker!" I give Macy a little goodbye wave as she walks onto the stage, her dark-green cape fluttering behind her. She has a belt made of real tree branches, which compliments her dark-green aesthetic well. Her steps are slightly nervous, or maybe it's just because she's wearing high heels.

"You are looking very foresty today, Macy," Alistair comments.

"I _do_ love trees," Macy says, inclining her head down. She fiddles with her branch belt, bouncing on the balls of her feet nervously. "I'm a good climber, too. I've practically spent my whole life doing it!"

Her grin is so infectious that most of the audience laughs, despite the fact that her joke isn't really all that funny. Still, I laugh too, and try to ignore the silence of all the tributes behind me. Cornell is at least smiling.

Macy tells Alistair about her siblings back home, Daniella and Alex, and how she wants to win so she can go home and see them. "Daniella is really smart, and Alex is really popular. I guess I feel a little overshadowed by them, but that won't matter once I win the Hunger Games! Nothing can outshine a Victor, right?"

I hear the buzzer and watch Macy leave the stage. I take her place, looking considerably less good in my forest-themed suit, but hey, I don't need to look good in order for this to work. I expressed my worry for accidentally telling my secret to all of Panem to Macy, and she told me two pieces of advice: one, don't mention Shallow. Period. Two: talk about something, and don't stop talking about that something. And so I decided to gush about food. I mean, food is awesome, so it shouldn't be too hard.

"Hello, Shallow," Alistair says. "How are you liking the Capitol?"

"Well, for starters, the food is fantastic," I say. "All of it is just _so_ good—I want to try everything, but there's never enough time." I sigh dramatically. "The desert is especially good. I love chocolate as much as the next person, but the raspberry tart I ate last night was better than any type of chocolate I've ever eaten. I think I'm going to win the Games just so I can eat another one of those."

"Yes, that's true," Alistair muses. "When you win, you could eat like that every day."

"Oh, man, it would all be worth it," I say, and I hear some chuckles from the audience. "Imagine: I could eat raspberry tarts for every meal of every day, and if anyone tried to stop me, I would just say: 'Come on, dude, I won the Hunger Games. I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want.'"

That gets more laughs than I expected. All I have to do is keep channeling Shallow and gushing about food, and soon I can shut my mouth and never say another word again. Easy.

With the thought of Shallow's appalled face at my interview propelling me forward, I start telling Alistair a story about the time Shallow tried to make toast in the bathtub and almost electrocuted himself (well, obviously, I have to switch some of the pronouns and names, but I don't think I ever messed up).

"And Echo comes running in and—"

"Echo?" Alistair interrupts. "Who is Echo?"

"Oh." My voice cracks. "He's, uh, my brother. He's, um, my twin, actually."

With renewed vigor and an eagerness to change the topic, I jump back into my story, but the buzzer goes before I can finish it. As I leave the stage, I call to the audience, "I'll just have to finish it when I win!"

As soon as I get off stage, however, I sink to my knees. A string of swear words are bouncing around my head, battling over which one I get to say, and I feel Macy's hand on my shoulder. "You didn't mess up," she assures me. "They just know who Echo is now. It's fine. It's going to be fine."

"Yeah," I say shakily, getting to my feet. "Fine. Just fine."

I follow Macy to the elevator as Avia starts sobbing on the stage and does nothing but that for three minutes straight.

 **Cornell Espench, District 9 Male**

Okay, so, wow, Avia is definitely something. I thought it was bad enough when she tried to run during the Reapings, but she keeps stammering incoherent words in response to Alistair's question and sobbing in between. She's on her knees, her sparkly silver dress crumpled and knotted around her as she wets her collar with tears. Finally Alistair appears to have had enough and tells someone off stage to end it early.

Alby and Alistair make small talk for a little bit until Alistair asks Alby about his family. Alby gets quiet for a moment before saying, "It's just my dad. My mom has been dead for three years. We used to be all good but now… now, Dad and I live on the streets. We barely get by each day, hardly having anything to eat…"

There are sighs of sympathy from all over the auditorium. "That must be devastating for you," Alistair says as the buzzer sounds.

Valentine meekly walks onto the stage, dressed in a white gossamer dress. It twirls with layers of tulle around her legs, which have silver gladiator sandals that reach up to her knees. Those certainly can't be too comfortable.

"What a lovely dress, for a lovely girl," Alistair comments as he takes Valentine's hand.

Valentine giggles nervously. "Thank you."

"Is there a special someone waiting for a pretty girl like you back home?" Alistair asks.

Valentine smiles hesitantly and whispers, "Not really, unless you call a cat a 'special someone'."

"Do you consider a cat a special someone?" Alistair asks.

"No!" Valentine exclaims. "Nutmeg is my baby. I love her to the moon and back. She's my cat. I miss her so much."

"Cats are very lovable," Alistair agrees, nodding. "I have always been more of a dog person, myself, but I'm sure the thought of seeing Nutmeg again provides great motivation."

"Oh, it does," Valentine gushes. "I want to pet her again, and kiss her head. But I want to see my mom again, and my brother, Danner. I miss my family a lot, and I doubt I will ever see them again." She sighs sadly, cradling her arms to her chest like she is holding an invisible cat. The buzzer sounds off stage, and the applause is polite.

I limp onto the stage, my honey-colored, stiff suit consistently bouncing against the hastily bandaged cut on my leg. My stylist took one look at it, called a medic, they put some random medicine on it, slapped on some bandages and told me it would be fine.

I don't believe them.

If Alistair noticed my limp, he certainly doesn't show it. "Hello, Cornell!" he exclaims cheerfully. "How do you feel about representing District 9 in the Quarter Quell?"

"I mean, it's pretty cool," I say casually. "Not that I'm not a fan of death and all that stuff, but at least the food is good."

There are a few laughs in the audience, but after Shallow gushed about food for three minutes straight, I think the Capitol is tired of it. Can't say I blame them. "And the showers are pretty cool," I add, draped lazily across the chair. "I probably smell like eight different things at once, but since when has that ever bothered me?"

I hear more laughs from the audience, which is good. Even Alistair is chuckling a bit. I grin playfully. "And these Hunger Games thing? Nah, let's, like, go skiing or something." I lean back in my chair. "Personally, I've never been skiing, but people probably die while doing that too."

I kick my legs over the back of the chair so I'm sitting upside down. I let my arms hang over my head and off the seat, feeling the blood start rushing to my head and seeing the audience like a bat would. The thought brings a smile to my face.

"When you win, what would your special talent be?" Alistair asks.

"Something weird, like pumpkin smashing, or watermelon growing," I reply sarcastically. "Or maybe I would start a stand-up comedy show."

The Capitolites seem to think that that is pretty funny. Maybe I really should take up pumpkin smashing. I'm sure it's a good stress reliever.

The buzzer sounds off the stage, where only Wren remains. I limp off the stage to the applause and laughter of the Capitolites, pleased with my reception. Maybe hope isn't lost after all. It's just grain crowns and becoming a murderer.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

I'm preparing myself for a lot of tears. After all, I'm just the sniveling, weak, terrified, fat, upper class, trappers' daughter. There's no way I can win the Hunger Games. I'll probably die in the first five minutes. I mean, if they want to think that, then I guess I'll play along.

An Avox points me toward the stage, and I follow, forcing my legs to seem shaky. I specifically requested that my stylist dress me in something pink: the dress is pale pink and shiny, coming down to just above my knees and covered in layers of tulle. I think it makes me look fairly childish, even if the idea is subtle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lammy Phyronix!" Alistair yells as I stumble to a stop. "Hello, Lammy," Alistair greets with a smile. "How are you finding the Capitol?"

"I-I think it's r-really beautiful," I mumble nervously, glancing out toward the audience. I widen my eyes, trying to look terrified. For a moment, I consider just giving up with the weak angle and just act natural, but I quickly dispel the thought. I'm in too deep to suddenly change attitude. I let tears well in my eyes, actually afraid of the sheer amount of people watching me right here, right now, from the safety of their homes. Even Dad is watching, surely. "T-the colors are… are… really bright…" I trail off, exhaling sharply and quickly inhaling again.

"It seems like someone is rather nervous," Alistair comments. "Are you afraid of crowds, Lammy?"

"Um…" I whisper shakily. "Y-yeah… k-kinda…" I take a deep breath. _It's just an angle, it's just an angle… you're not really afraid of crowds, are you?_ "T-there's just… just so many… so many people…"

"How do you like your odds of winning the Games, Lammy?" Alistair asks, clearly trying to change the topic.

"Oh…" I mumble. "T-t-the Hunger G-Games… oh my god…" I burst into tears, pulling my knees to my chest and tucking my head behind them. After a moment of silence, I lift my head with tears staining my cheeks. "I-I-I think they're o-okay. I can h-hunt and s-stuff…"

Thankfully, the buzzer goes off behind us, giving me the chance to finally get off of that hot stage. I may not be the most adventurous person out there, but I swear, I'm more courageous than what I'm trying to make the Capitol and the other tributes think.

I stand beside Wren, the only tribute who hasn't gone upstairs yet, to watch Rooster's interview. He is dressed in a blazing red suit, which he looks pretty uncomfortable in, with his jet black hair looking decidedly wind swept. He walks casually onto the stage and flops down into his seat beside Alistair.

"Hey," he says before Alistair can greet him.

"Why, hello, Rooster," Alistair replies happily. "How are things going for you?"

"Pretty well, all things considered," Rooster says nonchalantly. "You?"

"Well, I'm a little tired, but also slightly blinded by your outfit."

Rooster chuckles but doesn't say anything.

"When you win the Hunger Games, what would your special talent be?" Alistair asks curiously.

"You know," Rooster says thoughtfully. "I'd like to learn how to play the guitar. I love music, and I'd love to know how to make it."

"Oh?" Alistair continues. "What is your favorite kind of music?"

"I like jazz," Rooster replies. "but there isn't too much jazz on the guitar, so I might have to change it up a bit."

"Do you have any family waiting for you back home?" Alistair asks.

"Nope," Rooster says simply. "All dead. I live with a couple of my buddies, Rind and Sawyer."

"Ah," Alistair says in reply. "What about your odds of winning? How do you feel about that?"

"I'd say my odds are pretty good," Rooster responds. "I'll be playing the guitar in no time at all."

The buzzer goes off, and I start walking toward the elevator, wondering if I made the right decision.

 **Liana Arla, District 12 Female**

The girl from 11, Nora, dressed in a tan, floor length gown with cinnamon colored highlights makes her way onto the stage. She looks fairly nervous, but seems like she's trying not to show it, which I sort of admire.

"Hello, Nora," Alistair says. "How does it feel to represent District 11?"

"Nerve wracking," Nora says immediately. "I can't say I'm not scared for tomorrow, but I'm not going to let it deter me. After all, I have to hope. There's no way I'll ever get anywhere without hope."

"That is true," Alistair agrees, nodding. "Do you have any alliances set up?"

"I do," Nora says. "I'm allying with Valentine from 9. We've become pretty good friends in the past couple of days. It's going to be really hard to say goodbye to her." Her eyes look kind of glassy. "Goodbyes are much harder than hellos," she adds. "I mean, when you say hello, it means you'll see each other again. But goodbye… goodbye could be for seven minutes or the rest of your life."

"Goodbyes are very tough," Alistair says. "But I think you and Valentine will make a good pair."

"I mean, we both like cats," Nora replies. "That's got to count for something, right?"

I hear the buzzer and watch Axel go on. His suit is light blue and shiny. To all of Alistair's questions, he answers in one word. It certainly can't be interpreted as him being the strong, silent type. He just seems like the depressed, I-want-to-die type. When the buzzer goes off, I don't think I'm the only one who is relieved.

But Axel going off means I have to go on. So I stalk forward, in my silver-and-gold dress, and sit in the chair beside Alistair.

"Hello, Liana," Alistair greets politely. "How are you feeling about the Games beginning tomorrow?"

"I'm pretty confident," I say, trying to push that confidence into my voice. "I think I have a good chance. I can fight with axes, I'm good at foraging and I can camouflage like there's no tomorrow." I level my eyes with the camera. "So you'll have to be on the look out for me, the future Victor of the sixth Quarter Quell."

"A little birdie told me you have allied with the male tribute from 6, Brandon Hughes," Alistair states.

"Yes, I have," I reply. "I knew from the moment I saw him be Reaped that we needed to ally. I don't really know why. It was just a gut feeling, you know?"

"I do, I definitely do," Alistair responds. "Now, I have one last question for you."

"Alright," I say. "Go for it."

"I'd like to know what you think about your district partner's threat at the Reaping."

I blanch, for a moment thinking I might have heard him wrong. "Oh… um, well, he's going to have to keep looking, because he's not going to get his hands on me. With any luck, he won't get his hands on anyone." I turn and wink at the camera as the buzzer sounds. Surely I'm right. Joba Hatch will never get his hands on me.

And if he does, he'll end up with an ax to the head.

Said district partner is now making his way onto the stage, dressed in a slate gray, terribly colorless suit. Huh, I guess his stylist hates him as much as I do. Funny.

Joba answers most of Alistair's questions with grunts. I find myself almost laughing a few times at his almost comical attempts to be menacing yet likable, which I think we all know is never going to happen. Even Alistair seems confused on what to do, and we breath a simultaneous sigh of relief when his buzzer goes.

I make a beeline for the elevator, not wanting to be in there alone with Joba, and Wren decides to join me. There is silence until we reach her floor and she gets out, but I don't miss the look I catch over her shoulder. It says _we may be okay now, but tomorrow, I will kill you if I have to_.

I sigh. Let the Games begin.

XXX

Elderly Etta Snow sits at her desk late at the night. The sixth Quarter Quell will begin in the morning, and Etta can't say she isn't pleased with this year's crop of tributes. She feared that all twelve-year-olds would give them twenty-four sniveling crybabies, and while some of them truly are, that doesn't make for a very interesting Hunger Games. No, these tributes surely would not disappoint.

There was one tribute, however, that caught her attention. And so, Etta turns to her secretary. "Astria," she says, her voice reverberating through her office despite her quiet tone.

"Yes, Madame President," Astria says, stepping toward the president of Panem.

"I want a team to start investigating something," Etta replies, her hands folded and tucked beneath her chin.

"What shall the investigation be called, Madame President?" Astria asks politely.

"'Shallow Shamir'," Etta says, her eyes zeroing in on the tribute in question on her screen as he rambles about toasters and bathtubs. "tell them to start investigating immediately."

"Yes, Madame President," Astria says. She hurries off, leaving the president alone with her thoughts.

With some difficulty, Etta rises from her desk, striding over to the tall, picture windows on the far wall. "Whatever that tribute has done," she says to herself. "he will pay."

 **A/N: Ehehehehehehehehe I'm so excited! I'm not sure when the Bloodbath will be out, but sometime in the next week! Is anyone else excited? Fearing for their tributes lives? I guess I'm just a bloodthirsty person, or at least that's what my mom said when I was telling her about my plans.**

 **I'm ninety nine point nine percent sure of who the Victor is. I keep flipping between two tributes, but I think I'm sure now.**

 **-Amanda**


	21. Day 1 - Bloodbaths and Well, Blood

**A/N: I truly never thought I would get this far. I thought I would never get enough tributes, or I would lose interest, or I would stop at the Reapings. I really can't believe I finally got to the Bloodbath. The beginning of the Games.**

 **And please, please don't be offended if/when your tribute(s) die. After all, there can only be one Victor, and no matter how much I love all of them, twenty three of them have to die.**

 **So, here we go.**

 **Chapter 20 – Bloodbaths and… Well, Blood**

 **Jaz Tammel, District 3 Female**

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

I always said I would go in the Bloodbath if I ever got Reaped. I told my parents hundreds of times that I would. I told them I would refuse to play the Capitol's game and I would die before anyone could even see me. Everything would be over. Done. Silent. But I never took into account just how I would feel when I actually had to die.

Well, here I am. The launch room. I already bid goodbye to Thalia and Alenius… forever. I am alone here, with my stylist as the last person I will ever speak to. I feel like I should say something deep as my last words, but I don't want to talk at all for fear that I'll just throw up.

As we eat breakfast, I mentally compose my own epitaph. _Jaz Tammel, died at age 12 after throwing herself onto the blade of another twelve-year-old. She was kind of dumb._ It does nothing to calm my churning insides. I don't eat anything, because I know I will just send it right back up. I won't have to worry about having lots of stuff in my stomach when I go into the arena, because it won't matter. I just don't want to vomit off my platform and blow myself up before the gong even rings.

I put on my tribute outfit sluggishly. I wish I could stop time. I wish I could turn invisible and just walk away. I wish I didn't have to die.

"Thirty seconds remaining," the pleasant female voice announces. I shakily take a few steps toward the tube, looking back over my shoulder at my stylist. I feel like I should say something.

"Um, thanks," I say. I should have said something better. Something more meaningful. But it doesn't matter. It's not like anyone will ever know that those were my last words.

With trembling legs, I step into the tube and feel the glass close around me. The plate starts rising at the same time as I start hyperventilating. This can't be happening, right? This is all some terrible, long dream and I'll wake up back home, safe and sound and _alive_ —

The first glimpse of the arena that I see involves a lot of red and black. I realize what it is when I spot the volcano looming behind the Cornucopia—which looks more like an obsidian cave than a Horn of Plenty—and the river of lava running a few feet behind the tributes to my left. The sky is black, completely moonless and shrouded in black smoke. Behind me are blackened trees, complete with black leaves and bark and roots. Beside me stands Macy, and on the other side is Axel from 11.

"50!"

On my right, Axel throws himself off the pedestal and to the mines, splattering me with his guts, his blood, _oh god why_ —

"35!"

Thirty-five seconds until I die. Until I die covered with the blood, organs and body parts of a boy I never even talked to, never even knew why he killed himself, never even knew why he volunteered. I never even knew.

"20!"

Macy looks at me oddly. "It's okay," she whispers, but her voice is barely audible over the sound of the countdown. "We'll be okay."

 _No we won't_ , I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

"10!"

I cradle my arms to my chest. This is really where my life ends. On a volcanic mountain with magma and obsidian and blackened earth beneath my feet, the ground which my blood will be split on. I have less than a minute to live.

"5! 4! 3! 2! …1!"

Everyone springs from the plates, the majority charging for the Cornucopia. I aim for a backpack, but at the last moment veer off to the side and directly toward Wake from 2. She is examining a pack of knives with a look of disdain, but at the sight of me running toward her, completely weaponless, she smiles, a wicked sort of look. I see her raise her arm with a knife in her grip.

She lets it fly.

I'm dead before I even hit the floor.

 **Axel Douglas Kohan, District 11 Male**

Sweet release.

 **Rooster McCoy, District 10 Male**

As I step into the tube, I turn away from my stylist and feel in my shirt. Good. The ketchup bottle is still there. The seal is already broken, the cap is already undone, I just have to get into the fray and do it quick. Everything will be good to go.

The plate starts to rise. I hold my breath, waiting to see what the arena is, if there are trees, what kind of dangers lie ahead and—shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I need a different word that starts with _F._ Fish. Fudge. Frick. Fair. Fraud. Fiend. Fledgling. For. Favorite. Fill.

Fire. So much fire. Lava. Volcanoes. No, no, no, no, no, no…

Yeah, that's something I didn't mention during the interviews. I'm pyrophobic.

"10!"

No. No. No. Ketchup. Yeah, I've got the ketchup. I just have to get my hands to stop shaking long enough to get the packets out of my shirt and only neck and that knife on that crate—or that ax over there, I know the girl from 12 is fond of them—but…

"2! 1!"

The first thing I do once the gong rings is vomit off the side of my pedestal. Wiping my mouth, I try to squeeze the ketchup out of the packets as I sprint toward the Cornucopia. As I run, someone bumps into my shoulder and sends me sprawling toward the ground. I lay in silence, quickly spreading ketchup on the back of my neck. I roll toward a crate, snag a knife off the top and tuck it down my shirt collar. I shut my eyes, trying to ignore all the smoke and the screams around me.

As I lay there, I hear the sounds of two people going at it above me. The sound of arrows whizzing through the air and before I can tell what's happening I feel a sharp pain in my left shoulder. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. _I'm dead_ , I tell myself. _Dead people can't feel pain_. I try to steady my breathing and make it as unnoticeable as possible, but the pain is like fire is curling up my arm, and for all I know it could be. No, no, I can't be thinking like that. There's no fire, no fire, no _goddamn_ fire—

"I wouldn't spend time goggling at corpses, 5," a voice says above me. Someone yelps in surprise. I wish I could open my eyes or roll over and so I could figure out who was talking and which tribute from 5 they are talking to. I have a sneaking suspicion, and it really isn't all that surprising.

"P-please," says Kiran. "I-I don't w-want to d-die."

"Then you should have run," the other voice says, and the words are quickly followed by a wail and the sound of something hitting the ground. I take the risk of peeking my left eye open, and I see Kiran's body lying still next to me, his eyes wide open and unseeing, blood leaking down the side of his face, a knife sticking from his head.

 **Myrian Cardiff, District 2 Male**

After the gong rings, I leap off my plate and hit the blackened, tar-like ground running. I reach the Cornucopia just a few seconds after Wake and snatch up a pair of short swords. I wildly dodge an attempt at tackling me by the boy from 12 and roll across the ground, coming to a stop behind a stack of blankets. I sit up in time to see the pair from 7 disappearing into the black trees, laden day with two backpacks and a few weapons.

I jump to my feet, barring my short swords and making a run at the girl from 12. She's standing with her back turned near the entrance to the Cornucopia, doing something with her hands. A few feet away from her boots in the corpse of the boy from 10.

I swing the sword in my left hand, preparing to take her head off, when she whirls around, wielding an axe in each hand. I stumble backward, narrowly missing the foot of the boy from 10. Well, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He's dead.

12 surges forward, swinging her axes wildly, so I abandon the swords and grab a bow. I knock back an arrow, about to let it fly when 12 throws her shoulder directly into my chest, knocking me over. The arrow still flies, however, and it lands in the shoulder of the boy from 10. The corpse _jumps_. I don't know much about dead bodies, but I don't think that's supposed to happen. I'll check it out once I'm done with 12.

Speaking of which, she has me pinned to the ground, her knees on my elbows with one of her axes poised right above my face. I do the first thing that comes to mind: I lick her hand. "Oh! Gross!" she exclaims, lifting her hand up and relaxing her legs. I try to shove her off, but she swings her ax right at my face and—

Black.

 **Wren Willodean, District 5 Female**

The bloodbath ended around half an hour ago, the five cannons following shortly after. The sky hasn't gotten any lighter, and I'm doubting that it ever will. I'll be so happy to see the sun. Cash is off by the lava river with Brookley, barfing his guts out after he killed the boy from 8.

I remember seeing him doing it: Alby was just… standing there. Looking down at a cooking set with a tent under his arm. Cash had a spear, and he did what most people would do in the Hunger Games. He threw it. It landed in Alby's neck, and he was dead before Cash even realized what he had done. As Cash staggered over to the riverbank and started throwing up, Brookley stood guard, snarling menacingly and stabbing his trident toward any tribute that dared to come near. He didn't kill anyone, but I doubt that will last.

So now I sit here, around a fire with the others as we try to figure out where the other tributes will get water.

"Even if we can't find anyone, we'll live the longest," Ariella says boldly. "We have almost all of the water. Everyone else will die of dehydration sooner or later."

"But of course we're still going to look for them," Wake says in a tone that requires Ariella to agree. "What's the point of being in the Hunger Games if the only kills come from the Bloodbath?"

"Let's leave a guard," Ariella suggests. "Let's leave Cash."

"No," Coin says firmly. "Not Cash."

"Oooo-kay," Ariella replies. "How about Brookley?"

"5," Wake says. "We're leaving 5."

"Uh, I have a name, you know," I say angrily, rising to my feet. "Would you prefer that I call you 2, Wake?"

"Oh, puh-lease," Ariella says, rolling her eyes. "We call you '5' because people from District 5 aren't Careers. Need I remind you of your pitiful district partner?" She gestures toward Kiran's body next to the corpse of the boy from 10.

I glare daggers at her. "Don't say anything about Kiran."

"Oh, look," Wake says mockingly. "Someone got attached."

"It's called 'District Loyalty'," I say annoyedly. "I doubt that you know what it is."

"My district partner is dead as well, remember?" Wake says, and there isn't a hint of remorse in her voice.

"That's right," I say sarcastically. "That doesn't matter at all, does it? Those five dead kids out there don't matter at all. Them being dead just makes you one step closer to victory."

"That's true," Wake says, fuming. "And you have to die for me to win, as well." She brandishes a knife. "Whaddaya say, 5? Should we finish it now?"

I grab a machete. "Let's go, 2."

"NO!" Coin yells, stepping between us with her hands out. "We can't split up on the first night! We'll never win if we split up now!" Her blazing eyes jump from one face to the other. "Do any of you want to die? Because there's a river of lava you can throw yourself into if you're interested."

"No," I say finally. "None of us want to die." I pause. "No one wants to die."

 **Cash Quinneton, District 1 Male**

I hate vomiting.

This shouldn't be happening to me. All I did was kill that stupid boy from 8. Really, it's better that he's dead. I'm one step closer to home. But yet, I continue to puke my guts up into this stupid river of lava, and I've long since emptied the contents of my stomach.

Brookley pats my back comfortingly, which is kind of weird. After all, I could jump to my feet right now and start strangling him. I mean, I'm not, I'm not crazy, but still, I could. Eventually, I just sit back on the tar, heaving.

"Um, Cash," Brookley says, a slight tremor in his voice. "I have a favor to ask of you."

I look at him with mild confusion on my face. "Favor?" I repeat. "…what kind of favor?"

Brookley bites his lip, looking out across the lava river, to the area beyond. "I need you to help me fake my death."

I splutter incredulously, jumping to my feet. "What?" I exclaim. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Shh, shh!" Brookley says. "Quiet. I can't let the others know."

"Why?" I repeat.

"I can't say here, not with the Careers. I'm a leader, not a follower. But even I'm not crazy enough to counter Wake." He sighs. "So: here's the plan."

 **Cornell Espench, District 9 Male**

My leg hurts pretty badly. Shallow, Macy, Tesla and I haven't stopped running for almost two hours. Shallow and Macy have all the supplies, which includes two backpacks, an ax, a spear, and a machete. Shallow claimed the spear, Macy got the ax, and I let Tesla take a machete. I ended up with a knife from one of the backpacks.

We don't have much food, but we do have three whole bottles of water. That's the first thing we've been looking for. We're not sure if there even if a water source other than sponsors and the Cornucopia, so we've been trying to conserve it, but it will run out in around a day or two, so long as none of us die.

That's a scary thought.

Shallow is up in a tree, keeping watch, and Macy and Tesla wandered away to use the bathroom. I'm the only one here, so I pull up my pant leg and take a look at my cut. They never stitched it up like they probably should have, but the bandages are coming undone and I don't want to waste any of the stuff we got from the Cornucopia. Who knows when we might need it?

"When did that happen?" Tesla's voice says behind me. She appears at my side, examining the cut in the light from the lava river we camped on the banks of. "Cornell, where did this come from?"

"I got it before I even got Reaped, Tesla," I say calmly. "It'll heal soon. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"They let you go into the Games with a disadvantage?" Tesla demands.

"Well, they bandaged it up," I say. "Really, Tesla, I'm fine."

She humphs. "I doubt it." Still, she doesn't mention it again, instead just sitting cross legged on the bank of the lava, her face drawn in the light.

Shallow hops down from the tree, landing with a dull thud. "Hey," he says as Macy comes back into the clearing. "We gonna sleep soon? I can take first watch."

"We should wait," Macy replies. "Until the fallen." I know who she's thinking about: Kiran and Macy. I didn't see either of them after the Cornucopia, but I don't think either of them would betray us.

I pick at the tar-y ground as we sit in silence. We all jump as the Anthem echoes through the arena, the emblem of Panem appearing above our heads.

The first face that appears is the boy from 2's. I see Shallow's face brighten a bit. The second is Jaz. The third is Kiran. The fourth is the boy from 8. The final is the boy from 11. That means Valentine is still out there somewhere. I hope she's okay.

Shallow climbs back up into the tree. "G'night, guys."

"You'll wake me when you get tired, right?" Macy clarifies.

"Yeah, yeah," Shallow says. Macy rolls her eyes in the dim light.

Only now does it really hit me: I'm in the Hunger Games. I've survived the Bloodbath. Now all I have to do is survive the rest.

 **Ariella Winters, District 4 Female**

Wake, Coin and Wren set out a while ago to hunt for tributes. I wish they had taken all of us with them, because the smell of the bodies is starting to get to me.

Cash volunteers for first watch, so I pull out a sleeping bag and try to get some sleep.

I'm awoken some time later as Cash charges back into the clearing. "Ariella!" he yells. "Ariella! Brookley—he just died!"

"What?" I cry, scrambling to my feet. I grab Cash's shirt and pull him toward him. "Brookley's" my voice cracks. "dead?"

"Yes!" Cash exclaims hysterically. "He woke up and said he was going to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I started hearing sounds of fighting, and then there was a cannon. I got there in time to see Brookley's body being taken by a hovercraft and the girl from 12 with the boy from 6 running away!"

I clench my fists. "I'm going to kill them."

"What?" Cash exclaims. "Why?"

"Because they killed Brookley," I say angrily.

"I mean, he had to die either way," Cash replies with a shrug.

"He should have gotten further. And now, we only have five Careers. And," I sigh. "I was looking forward to our eventual fight."

Cash looks slightly appalled. "I'll keep watch some more. When the fallen come on, I'll let you know."

I grunt in reply as I slide back into my sleeping bag.

What just happened?

 **A/N: And here it is. Day 1 in the arena. Any surprising deaths? Out of the nineteen tributes remaining, who is shaping up as a Victor?**

 **Eulogies:**

 **24** **th** **Place: Axel: Axel was always meant to die. It was what he wanted, it was what he planned, and it was what he got. He was fun to right, with all his depressed thoughts, but no one expected him to make it past the bloodbath. RIP.**

 **23** **rd** **Place: Jaz: Jaz was submitted as a bloodbath tribute. Still, I got attached to her and wrote many POVs for her before the Games began so I could get as much out of her as I could. She was fun, sweet, and anti-social. Thank you, Team Shadow, for a wonderful bloodbath tribute. RIP.**

 **22** **nd** **Place: Myrian: I always knew I wanted to kill a Career in the bloodbath, and Myrian was the obvious choice. He was complex, with multiple layers to his personality, and I wish I could have delved deeper into that, but all but one have to die in the end. Thank you, Santiago** **.Poncini20, for such an amazing tribute. RIP.**

 **21** **st** **Place: Alby: Some people thought Alby would make it much further than he did. However, I always intended for him to die in the bloodbath. He was an interesting tribute, with a complex and fantastic personality. Thanks, S.H. Reke, for a complex tribute. RIP.**

 **20** **th** **Place: Kiran: Man, I loved Kiran. He was sweet, kind, timid, and had such a wonderful backstory. He was originally going to live longer, but I settled on him as a bloodbath fairly quickly. He was nice, but forgettable. Everyone was fairly neutral on him. Thank you, AnnaBanana, for a sweet little cinnamon roll. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	22. Day 2 - The World Is On Fire (Literally)

**A/N: Welcome to Day 2 in the arena! There will be more death—I mean why wouldn't there be, it is the Hunger Games after all—and, of course, drama.**

 **Chapter 21 – The World Is On Fire (Literally)**

 **Wake Hammerfort, District 2 Female**

To say that I'm pissed is an understatement. When we got back last night and Ariella told us that Brookley had been killed, I was skeptical. But Cash confirmed it during the fallen. I didn't see it for myself, and I wouldn't normally trust the word of my enemies, but with Brookley gone, it just makes things harder, and easier, simultaneously.

Angrily, I throw a knife at the obsidian Cornucopia. Nothing is going right. Brookley just had to go and get himself killed! I know it had to happen eventually, but strength is in numbers. If we lose one more, and we'll be the same size as the outlier alliance that the 7s started. And there isn't even a kusarigama in the Cornucopia! We didn't catch anyone when we hunting. _I_ said we should have stayed out longer, but 5 and Coin overruled my decision. It's like I'm not even the leader of the Pack! My word should be treated as gospel—I'm the leader, I'm clearly the best, no matter what Ariella and Cash and 5 say.

I kick over a stack of blankets and take a deep breath. As the stench of the bodies hits my nostrils, I wrinkle my nose. "Ugh, let's clear out for a few minutes. Let them get rid of the corpses."

"We should have done that twenty four hours ago," Cash grumbles.

"Excuse me!" I whirl around, pointing my knife against Cash's neck. He stumbles backward, his hands out defensively. "Do you want to face my wrath, Cash? Because I will not hesitate to cut off your head—"

"Hey, come on!" Coin yells. She grabs Cash's arm and pulls him away from me at the same time as Ariella and 5 restrain me. "I don't care if you hate each other's guts!" Coin continues. "Tolerate each other! Stop getting into meaningless fights! We already lost Myrian and Brookley, we can't lose anyone else! We'll be no better than the outliers!" Her face contorts with rage, glaring daggers at me. "Tell me, Wake, do you want to be like the outliers?"

I don't say anything.

"That's what I thought," Coin says. She lets go of her brother and stalks away, toward the lava river. She sits down on the bank and does something that seems very similar to crying.

 _You could push her in_ , says a voice in my head.

 _No,_ says another voice. _Cash would kill me. The pack would split. You'd be down all the numbers you so desire._

I throw another knife into the Cornucopia. "Come on, everyone. Let's clear out for a few minutes."

Coin is the last one to the leave the clearing. She has the hood of her jacket pulled over her head, casting shadows across her face, with her hands stuffed in her pockets. I roll my eyes. She's going to be an easy kill when the time comes. I start mentally planning who I'll kill first—Cash, Ariella, 5, then Coin. She'll be disheartened by the death of her brother, and she'll practically lay down at my feet so she can join him.

The thought makes me laugh. After I dispose of the other Careers, it will be a free walk through to Victory. The only thing that bothers me is the pair from 7, with their high training scores, and potentially the threat of the girl from 12. I saw her fighting Myrian in the bloodbath, the way she practically tore his face off with those axes. It's mildly concerning, just like the pair from 7, even that monstrous boy from 12.

Huh. We've been walking for almost ten minutes now, and the hovercraft hasn't come yet. I turn my head back toward the Cornucopia. Is someone robbing us? Have we not gone far enough? Is there a tribute near? …Near enough to kill?

"Everyone, stop," I say loudly. "Let's go back."

"They haven't taken the bodies yet," Ariella points out. "That was the whole reason we came out here."

"The hovercraft hasn't come yet," I reply curtly. "Someone else is at the Cornucopia."

"We probably haven't gone far enough," Coin says tiredly.

"No," I say firmly. "There's someone at the Cornucopia." I look around at my allies.

"You're being paranoid," 5 says.

"I'm going back," I reply, striding back toward the Cornucopia. After a few moments, more footsteps join mine. Finally, someone is listening to my instincts.

In the Cornucopia clearing, I can hear someone shifting supplies around. With a small pocket of panic welling up inside my chest, I start sprinting through the blackened trees. I break through the brush and into the clearing just in time to see the boy from 10 painstakingly dumping a crate full of water bottles into the lava river.

I roar with rage, charging toward him, preparing to kill him with nothing but my fists. I shove my shoulder into his back, trying to throw him forward into the lava. He stumbles, crying out in pain, but he doesn't fall. Instead he turns around, brandishing a knife with murder in his eyes.

I send a kick at his knees, trying to throw his legs out from under him, but all it does is make my foot ache. I resort to tackling him against the tar, pinning him to the ground. He tries to shove me off but I hold fast, allowing him hardly any room to struggle. "You wanna die, 10?"

He spits in my face.

I rear back, fury racing through my veins like fire. "How _dare_ you?" I shout in his face.

He grins lopsidedly. "You spit when you talk."

If I had a knife on me, I would stab him right now. Sixteen different places, at least. All the places that are eventually fatal but not immediately. In lieu of knives, I grab his shoulders, dragging him to his feet. He screams in pain, his muscles tensing in my grip.

I push him toward the lava river, thinking he will finally, finally die. His feet slide over the uneven tar, throwing up pebbles into my face and he topples backward toward the lava. I grin excitedly. My second kill and—

As he flies backward toward certain death, a large chunk of stone floating on the lava drifts by. He lands on it with a thud, his heels dipping into the lava. He screams in agony, pulling his feet to his chest with shaking limbs.

I pivot quickly, turning my wild eyes on my congregated allies. "Give me a knife! I have to finish him!"

None of them move. Finally, Coin says, "He'll die soon enough. I saw his feet get burnt to a crisp. He's not going anywhere fast."

"I don't care!" I exclaim angrily. "he should be dead right now. We should have heard his cannon. His death should be under my name!"

"Just drop it, 2," 5 says irritably. "He'll die eventually, anyway."

I scowl my best glare at all of them. They're useless. Why couldn't there be competent Careers this year? It would have made for more of an interesting fight when we eventually split, and it would have made this whole thing so much easier. Why can't the others be as ready to kill as I am?

 **Rooster McCoy, District 10 Male**

 _Is this how I die?_ I think vaguely as I drift along the river of lava in a haze of pain. My head is swimming, but I have to stay awake. If I go to sleep I might never wake up again. And I can't let that happen. If I die now… that man back in 10 will be laughing, and Rind and Sawyer will have to go on without me. That can't happen. Not now. Not ever.

Eventually I'm jolted from half-consciousness as the slab of stone bumps against the bank of the river. Deciding that it's safer on the mainland than it is floating on lava, I crawl onto the riverbank, dry heaving. I haven't eaten anything since we got into the arena, and it's been almost twenty four hours. And now I don't have any supplies, can't walk, and have no way back to the Cornucopia.

I'm too vulnerable out here. Someone with a knife or a bow could kill me in two seconds flat. Well, what choice do I have? Lay on this riverbank until I either get a sponsor gift or I die? What kind of way to go is that?

 **Macy Barker, District 7 Female**

"I'm gonna kill you, 6!"

The sound of footsteps crashing through the forest and, of course, the yells of Joba Hatch, make a terrible alarm clock. As soon as the noises pierce my head, I leap to my feet, all semblances of the deep sleep I had been in five seconds ago completely gone from my mind. I snatch up my ax, brandishing it in preparation for a fight.

Joba is crashing through the underbrush, a scimitar in his left hand, rage and insanity dominating his features. Echo is climbing down from the tree he was in last night with his spear. Cornell has started running, but with his cut, he's slow. Tesla has made the smart decision and followed him.

"Shallow, come on, let's go!" I shout as Joba breaks into our little clearing.

"We'll lose all of our supplies!" he yells back, stepping toward Joba and in front of me.

"Who cares?" I reply. "If we're dead, we won't need supplies at all!"

Joba swings out his arm, knocking Echo to the ground like a leaf. He kicks me toward the river, and the end of my braid dips into the lava, singing away my hair. I stagger to my feet, watching Joba charge through the blackened trees after Tesla. I grab my ax from where it had fallen and make chase. "Come on, Shallow!" I yell, my head momentarily swiveling around toward Echo, who lays unmoving on the ground. "Shallow!"

I don't stop going after Joba. My feet pound against the tar with its little lava veins running through it. Joba isn't a very fast running. I don't doubt that he can run longer than Tesla and I can, and definitely Cornell, but I can beat him in a race, surely.

As I come up behind Joba, I prepare to bring my ax down upon his head, but he turns around suddenly, his hand shooting out and grabbing my throat. I scream, clawing at my neck and kicking my legs into Joba's stomach, but all he does is tighten his grip. "Let—me—go!" I wheeze, pummeling Joba with my feet and fists.

A red haze fills my vision, until suddenly air rushes into my lungs as I tumble to the ground. I lay spread eagle, drinking in air greedily, darkness floating in and out my eyes as my air-deprived consciousness tries to stay awake. I don't know how long I lay there, but I convince myself to stand when I hear a cannon shot.

With my vision swimming and the arena swaying beneath my feet, I stumble drunkenly toward Joba and Tesla and—Cornell's dead body. His eyes are wide open, emotionless and unseeing, a bloody slit across his throat. I've heard people look peaceful in death, but Cornell doesn't. He just looks dead.

I slam my shoulder into Joba's shoulder angrily, and his scimitar swings wildly through the air. Only then do I see Tesla pinned to the ground beneath Joba's weight, her body littered with cuts. Just how long was I out for? It couldn't have been very long—Joba certainly would have killed Tesla by now, right? But maybe he wanted to drag it out and—no, I won't even think about it.

Joba's scimitar slices into Tesla's chest. The cut doesn't look very deep, but it could be… it could be… it could be fatal. How has our alliance fell apart so quickly?

I spot my ax lying a few feet away, discarded as Joba strangled me. With renewed energy and adrenaline filling my veins, I seize it and bring it down on Joba's neck. His head topples clean off, blood spewing from his open throat, and right on a dying Tesla. A cannon sounds, signifying Joba's death (as if it wasn't obvious already). With some difficulty, I push Joba's body off of Tesla and help her to her feet.

"Come on," I say, my voice no louder than a croak. "Let's get back to the clearing. We'll f-fix you up." I don't like the tremor in my voice.

With a shaking hand, Tesla hands me a woven circle made of grain. "What's this?" I ask softly, pausing to cough violently.

"C-Cornell's… Cornell's t-token," Tesla stammers, pressing it into my hands. "H-he wants… he wants t-t-to give i-it… to give it t-to his s-sister."

I shut my eyes tight, feeling tears well, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I nod sharply and shove the crown into my pocket.

As I pull Tesla's arm over my shoulder and slowly start helping her back to camp, I throw a glance over my shoulder. I see Cornell's body, splayed out and dead on the ground, and Joba's headless corpse. Only now does it hit me: I killed Joba. I should be guilty. I should feel terrible. But I don't. We're all so much safer with Joba gone. I cast a glance at Tesla, trembling and dying beside me.

 _Well,_ I think sadly. _Not all of us_.

 **Valentine Vizzolini, District 9 Female**

It's nice to know that Cornell is still out there. I don't have faith in my abilities, but I hope that if I don't win, which is likely, that Cornell will win. He told me about his little sister, Rylina, when we were in the Capitol, and how she had made him a grain crown to take as his token. I used to make grain crowns and give them to my parents. I stopped making them when Dad died. After that, I thought they were bad luck. But Cornell's sister must have thought differently.

Nora and I have been keeping on the move ever since we woke up a few hours ago. The sky has never lightened, so it feels like we're trapped in perpetual darkness. I don't like the feeling, having only lava and fire as a light source.

We found a small lava tributary that is slowly curving toward the big river I saw at the bloodbath. There doesn't seem to be any water in the arena, and Nora was only able to get one bottle from the Cornucopia. We're both starting to get pretty thirsty, as we are trying to conserve water, but surely there's a way to get some in here? The Gamemakers have to know how boring it is to watch a Games were all the tributes die from dehydration. But if there isn't, Nora and I are sitting ducks. We'll run out of water by tomorrow morning, and if the only other source if sponsors, we'll be dead in a few days.

Everyone liked Nora and I at the interviews, but we were forgettable. We're not strong or attractive or charismatic like the other tributes are. Maybe we'll do something amazing and all the sponsors will fall in love with us, but I have my doubts. I've heard dehydration is a terrible way to go, and I'm in no hurry to test it out.

When the tributary becomes so thin we can jump over it, Nora and I take the opportunity to get away from the other tributes. As we tromp across the seemingly endless plain of lava and tar, I spot a strange lump of blackened flesh on the horizon. I point it out to Nora.

"What is it?" she wonders aloud, striding toward it without hesitation.

"I don't know," I reply, following her much more nervously.

"Oh my god!" Nora exclaims, breaking into a run. "I think it's a person!"

"What?" I say incredulously. "Nora, be careful! It could be a trick!"

But Nora doesn't listen. She reaches the motionless lump and kneels beside them. "I think it's the boy from 10."

"Stay away from him," I say. "He might be tricking us. He's dangerous and sly."

But all Rooster does is moan. He rolls onto his back, looking up at Nora and I with unfocused, unrecognizing eyes.

"What's his name?" Nora whispers in my ear.

"Rooster, I think."

"Hey, Rooster," Nora says in a voice as if she is coaxing a cat out from underneath a porch. "Where does it hurt the worst?"

Rooster doesn't move. He doesn't open his mouth. He shuts his eyes, but Nora taps his cheek. "Hey, come on, stay awake."

"…couldn't we just let him die?" I murmur. "He's close now, and it will be one less person we have to go through to win."

Nora gapes at me. "Valentine, what has gotten into you?" she demands. "We can't let him die! I'll never forgive myself… if I have the ability to save someone and I don't even try to…" She shivers and turns her attention back to Rooster's injuries.

"There's an arrow wound on his shoulder…" Nora mutters. "And his feet… oh my god, his feet…" She looks up at me with wild eyes. "Val, do we have any medicine? Burn medicine, maybe? Bandages? Anything?"

I sift through the teeny little backpack we got from the Cornucopia. "N-no," I stammer. "Nothing."

Nora shuts her eyes, taking deep breaths. She starts looking around the barren lava plain desperately. "Damn," she mutters. "No leaves, no plants… without medicine, there's not much I can do for him. I can't even bandage up his arrow hole."

I sit back. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't—" Nora begins, but stops. "Listen," she commands quietly. I look up at the sky and then back to Nora, trying to figure out what she's talking about. And then I hear it: the sound of sonar.

A sponsor gift! But how?

The small metal container with the number 10 on it floats down and lands beside Rooster's head. Nora quickly opens it and produces a small jar of burn medicine and a little roll of bandages. She pulls out a small paper, reads it, then hands it to.

 _Nora, Valentine, thank you._

 _Rooster, good luck._

 _-Rhett_

I gently fold the paper in half and tuck it in the pocket of Rooster's jacket. If he lives, he'll find it eventually. I sigh and watch Nora go to work. I wish I had Nutmeg here. Actually, scratch that—I don't want Nutmeg here, I'd like to be back home in District 9 with Nutmeg, not stuck in this volcanic arena.

"Hey, Nora?" I say tentatively. "Do you think he will win?"

"Rooster?" Nora replies. I nod. "Maybe. This burn medicine is pretty advanced. It must have cost a lot of money. Rooster must have some rich fans." She sighs and keeps applying the medicine to Rooster's heels. "Do you think people will talk about us if he wins? Those two girls who made it possible for him to win?"

"I hope they do," I say wistfully. "If I die, and at least get, like, a mention in _Capitol Couture_ , I guess I can die happy." I don't think I will ever be able to die happy, but Nora doesn't have to know that. What Nora doesn't know won't hurt her, right?

I glance over at Rooster in his half-conscious state. Will he win? I still want Cornell to win—but as long as Rooster gives us credit for his continued existence in his Victory Interview, I suppose I'm okay with it.

 **A/N: I don't think either of the deaths in this chapter were all too surprising, but were you surprised? Will Tesla pull through her chest gash? Will Nora and Valentine be able to save Rooster? How long will it be until the Career Pack splits? Will Cornell's grain crown ever get returned to Rylina?**

 **Eulogies:**

 **18** **th** **: Joba: I don't think anybody liked this guy. He was submitted as a bloodbath, but I decided to keep him around for a little bit longer to move the plot along and kill a tribute or two. He was cruel, strong, and highly unlikable. RIP, you probably will not be missed.**

 **19** **th** **: Cornell: Cornell was a really great guy. He was a blast to write, but I don't think anybody thought he would make it too far, especially with his cut. I loved writing his sarcasm, especially in his interview, and his relationship with Rylina was adorable. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	23. Day 3 - Pacts and Problematic People

**A/N: I hope this chapter isn't too terrible, I was really tired and sick when I wrote most of this, but here we go.**

 **Enjoy**

 **Chapter 22 – Pacts and Problematic People** **(ha try saying that one five times fast)**

 **Liana Arla, District 12 Female**

I guess I was a little put out when I saw Joba's face in the sky last night. Brandon may have cheered when he died, but I wasn't all that relieved. I _may_ have been looking forward to our showdown after his threat at the reaping. I remember seeing him threaten the girl from 6 as well, and it's kind of nice to know he didn't manage to drag her down with him. I don't know much about the girl from 6, but Brandon said she seemed nice. And, I mean, she was abused. That's got to count for something, right?

Brandon and I have taken up residence in a tree. We found a nice, big fork branch that can miraculously hold our weight.

I haven't stopped thinking about killing the boy from 2 in the bloodbath. The worst thing isn't that I killed him: it's just the memory of what he looked like in the aftermath. His face shredded and bloody… it makes me feel like throwing up.

Sometime last night—at least, I think it was last night. Since the sun never comes up in here, the only way to tell time is the by the fallen coming on—we ran across the girl from 8 and the boy from 3. Well, they ran across us, I was sleeping and Brandon woke up me. We didn't talk, they just walked under our tree, giggling and talking about trivial things. They probably didn't even know we were there.

But we're okay. We have food. We have enough water to get by for a few days. I'm sure that the Gamemakers will have to give us some at some point. As long as it's not through a feast, I'm good with it.

I shift on our fork branch. Brandon left a few minutes ago to use the bathroom, and I didn't exactly want to come with him. I don't think it's a good idea to wander too far alone, but what choice do I have? I don't want to see that, and Brandon doesn't want me to either.

So I lay here, lounging on our sleeping bag, wondering what's going to happen next, who's going to die next, if it will be me or Brandon. It's weird, being in an arena where you never know if you'll be alive in ten minutes. It should be scary, but for some reason, it isn't. Like many things in my life, it just is.

I sit up at Brandon reaches the bottom of our tree. I jokingly salute to him as he climbs to our fork. "Hey," I say. "Doing okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, leaning back against the tree trunk. "You?"

"Same." I idly pick at a splatter of mud on my jacket sleeve. Where did that even come from? I can't remember running through any mud. Is there even mud in the arena? It's a volcano, not a swamp.

"What should we do today?" Brandon asks.

I shrug. "I dunno. We could just not do anything."

"The Gamemakers won't like that," Brandon replies. "It's boring to watch tributes just sit around and talk."

"Unless we talk about something really interesting," I say, flipping onto my stomach. "Tell me more about Nova."

Brandon blushes. "I've had a crush on her for years, since third grade. She totally changed me. I just want her to be happy."

"Even if that means that you're dead?" I ask, surprised.

"…yes," he says eventually. "I want Nova to be happy, with or without me."

"That's sweet," I comment.

"Do you have any friends?" Brandon asks. "Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Just a friend?"

"No, not really," I say. "There's this girl named Corolla who lives in the candy shop, but she forces her friendship on me. I prefer to be alone. Drawing is easier when there aren't other voices around. It's calmer."

"So, your favorite color is orange," Brandon says, and it isn't a question.

"What's yours?" I ask curiously.

"Blue," he replies immediately. Silence stretches between us. "This is awkward," Brandon says finally, folding his hands in his lap.

"Just keep talking," I beg. "I don't care if it's meaningless. Idle, casual things like this take my mind off the Games."

And Brandon does. We talk until I hear a strange rustle in the black leaves above us. "Stop," I say. "Did you hear that?"

I see a wing throw the canopy, and a bright red feather flits down and lands on Brandon's lap. I spring to my feet, snatching up our backpack and leaping toward the ground. Brandon shimmies down from the tree, and we slowly back away from the cloud of bird mutts in the branches above us.

"Run?" Brandon whispers.

"Run," I agree. As the blood-red birds descend upon us, pecking us with razor-sharp beaks and clawing at us with talons like knives, we sprint. I leave Brandon behind quickly, but I slow and try to find him. With my head turned over my shoulder, I almost throw myself right into the lava river. "Ah!" I scream, tipping dangerously close to the lava on the bank. A few hundred feet away from us, on the opposite side of the river, three figures are congregated on the ground. "Brandon! Jump!"

Putting my long legs to good use, I leap over the lava river, barely making it to the other side without going for a deadly swim. The birds don't hesitate to follow, seeing as a river on the ground isn't going to stop them. Crap! I left my ax at our tree!

"Brandon?!" I call into the swarm.

"Here!" comes the muffled yell. I breath a sigh of relief and take step back, and suddenly I'm sent sprawling onto the tarry ground.

"Oof!" I exclaim, laying spread-eagled. "what the hell?"

"Val, no," the girl from 11 says, trying to pull the girl from 9 away from me. Actually, I don't mind being down here. The birds are staying higher. Val and 11 are getting the worst of it. "Rooster—back at our camp—we need to help him—"

"Who cares?" Val demands shrilly. "They're all gonna die at some point. Why not now?"

11 pulls harder on Val's arm. "Valentine, what has gotten into you? You're acting so weird—first not wanting to save Rooster, and now you want to kill people? What's your problem?"

Brandon finally makes across the lava river. I jump to my feet, throwing Valentine away and run to his aid, helping him keep his balance. He's covered in cuts, from his head to his feet, his clothing shredded. He looks shaky. I dodge a bird's attack and prepare to leave the bickering alliance behind, but before I can start moving, 11 stumbles backward toward us, like Valentine pushed her. 11's back slams into mine, throwing me forward, and Valentine rushes toward us.

She seizes Brandon by the shoulders… and pushes him… toward the lava… and he falls… he falls in…

 _BOOM!_

"NO!" I scream, turning toward Valentine. "You're—you're going to pay—" I'm so mad I'm seeing red, and all I can think about is killing Valentine and her friend. She killed Brandon! She killed my ally! My friend… my _only_ friend. She needs to pay.

But before I can launch myself onto her and rip her throat out, the ground between us starts to rumble. It draws back, creating a new lava river, and I rush backward, falling over my feet in my haste to get away from the river. Valentine and 11 scramble away and off into the distance. "COME BACK YOU COWARDS!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "COME BACK!"

It's pointless. Futile. They won't come back, and I have no way to kill them when a river of lava runs between us. I sink to my knees, feeling a wave of emotion crash over me like a thousand bullets. Brandon… Nova…

Finally I stand up, feeling new resolve. I will avenge Brandon. Everyone in this arena will pay, whether or not they killed Brandon. But Valentine and 11? They'll pay worst of all. And when I return home after this is all over, and I go on my Victory Tour, I'll find Nova. I'll make sure she has a good life. For Brandon.

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

My allies' bickering does my head in. They haven't shut up for days! I can't take it—my head is pounding, and if one more of them raises a weapon against anyone else in the Pack, I think I might throw myself into the lava river. Or, better yet, into the volcano, if it ever decides to erupt. I'm guessing they're waiting for Finale for that one, though.

"When are we going to actually hunt tributes?" Ariella complains, pacing lazily in front of the Cornucopia. I really would have thought something made of obsidian would have shattered by now, what with all the knives Wake has thrown into it, but it stands high and dry, only decorated with a few cracks. If only my sanity could say the same thing.

"If you want to go hunt tributes, just leave," Wake replies irritably, dragging a knife along the ground and drawing a mass of scribbles. I mean, whatever floats her boat.

"I'm not going alone," Ariella says in a tone that implies it should have been obvious. "I'll take Coin, Cash and Wren with me. _You_ can stay here and guard the supplies."

"No way in hell am I staying here while you all go and have fun," Wake shouts angrily, jumping to her feet and stalking toward Ariella. I notice a machete in her hand. Has she run out of knives to throw at the Cornucopia?

"Well, I guess you have to," Ariella says curtly. Wake opens her jacket, where I can see an array of knives attached to the fabric, and for a moment I think she's going to stab Ariella. But she just lobs it into the Cornucopia. Figures. Ariella laughs. "Treat things how you want to be treated, honey," she says mockingly.

Wake's face turns red with rage, and she lifts her machete. Ariella stumbles back but grabs a spear off a crate. They circle each other for a moment before I step in.

"Alright!" I yell. "That's enough! How can any of you think you're going to win if you're constantly at each other's throats? There's strength in numbers, remember?" My eyes jump from face to face, lingering on Cash's for a moment longer than it should have. But I quickly shake off the feeling and say, "We are going to make a pact—"

"What kind of pact?" Wake demands.

"I'm getting to that, if you would let me speak for more than five seconds without interrupting me!" I shout. I take a deep breath. "We are going to make a pact. This pact means that we won't split up until we reach the Final Eight. After that, everything is fair game. But if we're all left in the final eight, that's only three outliers left for us to kill. Objections?" I don't wait for any of them to say anything. "Great! That means no more fighting. We have to have some semblance of trust, no matter how thin. And Wake, stop throwing knives into the Cornucopia. It's a waste of weaponry."

The clearing is silent, the only sound being the quiet bubbling of the lava river. In the distance, I hear a cannon shot. One less left. One step closer to home. I can't help but wonder who it was. I hope it was someone difficult to kill, like the girl from 12 or the pair from 7.

"Let's go hunting," Wake says flatly, grabbing her machete again.

"Finally," Ariella mutters. Wake glares at her, but I glare harder.

"Remember," I mouth. "the pact."

Wake rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

Maybe I really can keep this pack together for more than ten minutes. I feel the pounding in my head recede a little in the blissful, albeit ominous silence.

 **Avia Kasiani, District 8 Female**

I gently nudge Bennett's sleeping back. "Bennett," I say sweetly. "I made breakfast." He rolls over groggily and grins.

"Hey, Avia," he says. "Breakfast?"

"Yes," I say. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Being nice twenty-four/seven is tiring and annoying. How can anyone actually be like this all the time? "I found these eggs, so I cooked them up." I hand him a black wooden bowl I painstakingly carved yesterday just to have something to do, which is full of little cooked eggs.

"Are you sure they're safe to eat?" Bennett asks, taking the bowl.

"I don't know," I say honestly. I'm certainly not going to try them first. "I tried it earlier, and I'm fine." Keeping my voice shrill and innocent like this is difficult. But every little detail counts, and Bennett isn't stupid. Just gullible.

"Okay," Bennett says, and takes a bite. He chews for a moment. "Yep, they seem fine to me."

I giggle, feeling disgusted at myself. _It's all for the best_ , I remind myself. _If we get attacked, Bennett will surely protect me, the sweet, naïve, innocent little girl_. I would have gone for someone a little stronger and more talkative, but takers can't be choosers, and at least Bennett is tolerable. Some of the other tributes in this arena aren't nearly as okay. At least, most of them are dead already.

Still, I'm not stupid. I wouldn't ally with some of those tributes if they were the last option in Panem. I'd rather go solo than in my sleep.

"How are you doing?" I decide to ask.

"I'm okay," Bennett says. "What about you?"

"I'm happy!" I exclaim. "But it's kind of hard not to be, isn't it?"

Bennett is silent for moment. I know I hit a pressure point, and he can't blame me because he thinks I wasn't trying. "No, it's not," he says eventually. "For you, maybe, but not for me."

"Aw," I say sadly. "Why not?"

"I mean, it's the Hunger Games, Av," Bennett says somberly. "We could die at any minute."

"What?" I exclaim. "No! That won't happen. We're safe here, Ben."

Bennett bites his lip. "I guess we are."

I'm barely able to contain my laughter. Finally I say, "I need to go to the bathroom, okay?" I jump to my feet and skip out of our clearing without waiting for Bennett's answer. As soon as I'm out of ear shot, I smile, chuckling, and before long I'm in stitches on the ground. In that moment, I don't really care about the likelihood that the other tributes might find me. It doesn't matter to me.

I lazily wander through the forest of black, looking at the tiny veins of lava beneath my feet. Far behind me is the volcano. I can't help but wonder when that will erupt. I expect during the finale, but maybe before that. Gamemakers are crazy. Who knows what they're going to do? Maybe it's just for show. I mean, that would be anticlimactic, but amusing.

I decide to turn around before Bennett starts thinking I've been attacked and am bleeding out on the ground. It's not that I care about his mental health, or something, I just don't want him running out here and leaving all of our stuff behind.

When I get back, Bennett is sitting at the base of a tree, polishing off the last of eggs. "Hey!" I exclaim, pushing the sweetness back into my voice. "Save some for me!" I giggle, mockingly waggling a finger in front of Bennett's face.

"I did," he says defensively, although his tone really isn't all that serious. "I left the other bowl." He gestures to the ground beside him, where the second bowl I carved sits, still full of eggs.

"Oh," I say, picking it up. "Thanks!" I start shoveling the eggs into my mouth with my hands, feeling disgusting. "What do you want to do today?"

Bennett shrugs. "I don't know. We should look for water."

"Okay!" I say eagerly. "Let's get started now!" I start to pack up our meager supplies, happy for once to be doing something productive, even if Bennett is about as useful as a sack of potatoes. Actually, a sack of potatoes might be _more_ useful right now. At least I'd have a steady food source. But you can't manipulate a sack of potatoes, so I guess there goes that idea.

We leave our little clearing behind, deciding to travel north. Bennett thinks the Careers at the Cornucopia are east, and the lava river is just south of that. I'm not good with directions, so maybe Bennett has one use: making sure we don't walk into the Cornucopia. But I have my doubts.

 **Tesla Mercedust, District 6 Female**

I've been in a daze all day. Shallow woke up a few hours ago, and Macy seems glad about that. But she doesn't seem glad about me. I mean, I wouldn't be if our roles were switched.

The fallen came on a few minutes ago. I can't believe Brandon is really gone. I never knew him back in 6, but in the short time I knew him, he seemed really nice. And in the interviews, no matter how overshadowed he probably felt after mine, he was sweet with his talk about Nova. I didn't think I would outlive him. And now I need to remember to ask Macy and Shallow to make sure that Nova gets the help that she needs.

"We need to change your bandages," Macy says from beside me. I turn my head.

"Don't bother," I say weakly. "I'll be dead by morning, anyway."

Macy is silent for a moment. "I don't care. I want you to be comfortable."

"It's a waste," I say firmly as I can muster. "Those bandages could be the difference between life and death for you and Shallow. You need to conserve them."

Shallow jumps down from his tree. He has a beautiful bruise on his forehead, travelling all the way from his hairline to his jaw and covering the entire left side of his face, courtesy of Joba Hatch. It's hard to remember that Joba is dead. And that Macy killed him. "You really should keep the bandages on, Tesla."

"It's pointless," I reiterate, but I know it's futile. I sigh, instantly regretting the action, and let Macy remove the bandages. "I'm tired," I say suddenly.

"Don't go to sleep!" Macy says urgently. "You might never wake up again!"

"That wouldn't suck…" I say lazily. "I mean, death is quiet, right? And there's no chest pains…"

"But Joba is dead, too!" Shallow adds. "Do you want to spend the rest of eternity with him?"

I barely shrug, relaxing against the tar. "We… we probably won't even… even see each other…"

Shallow and Macy exchange terrified look. "Tesla!" Macy exclaims, but the sound is kind of distant, like she's talking to me from the other end of a long wind tunnel. "Don't close your eyes!"

But my eyelids are so heavy… and I'm so tired… I just want sleep… everything will be better when I wake up… won't it? Sleep makes everything better… and I don't hurt when I sleep…

A haze settles over my mind. I can see Macy and Shallow's mouths moving, but no sound is coming out… have I gone deaf? Is this… is this what dying feels like? I don't want to die, I don't want to die! I have so many things I want to do, I'm only twelve! I'm too young to die!

My eyelids slide close, and I join Brandon in death.

 **A/N: With Tesla and Brandon gone, that makes District 6 the first district to be eliminated, which is kind of ironic, because 6 is my favorite District, but you know how it is…**

 **Eulogies:**

 **17** **th** **Place: Brandon: Man, I really loved this guy. His story with Nova was so sweet, and he was just a wonderful person. He just didn't have the needed skills to win, and this is where his tale ends. Thank you, TheNoobyBoy, for such a sweet tribute. Let's hope Liana can avenge him. RIP.**

 **16** **th** **Place: Tesla: If I'm being honest, Tesla was one of my favorite tributes. I considered her as the Victor for a little while, but eventually came to the conclusion that no matter how much I loved writing this fiery little girl, she wasn't going to win. She went through so much, and this where she meets her end. Thank you, AnnaBanana, for a girl with such a fantastic backstory. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	24. Day 4 - Insanity Claims Us All

**A/N: I pounded this chapter out in like an hour, so I hope it's okay. Anyway, this one is going to be tough.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 23 – Insanity Claims Us All**

 **Nora Caffler, District 11 Female**

Valentine has been acting weird ever since yesterday, when she pushed the boy from 6 into the lava, and the girl from 12 swore revenge on us. Actually—scratch that, she's been acting weird ever since the Bloodbath. I know these kind of things change people, but Valentine is just _so_ different. It feels wrong.

I've seen a lot of bad stuff in my twelve years in Panem, but I'll admit, I've never seen someone push someone else into a river of lava. That's a new one. I just can't believe that Valentine did it. She's so sweet, and kind, and soft… but now, I'm starting to question if I know her at all.

She's been holding onto our knife as I work on Rooster for a while now. Speaking of Rooster, he's doing much better. The burn medicine did wonders for him, and I don't know where we would be if we hadn't gotten those bandages with them. He seems apprehensive about us, which I suppose it understandable, but even he has to admit that I'm the only thing keeping him alive right now, right?

The only bad thing is that we're running out of burn medicine. I have to keep applying it to keep Rooster's feet from getting infected, but even with the cream, they're still at risk. I would say I will protect him if anything comes our way, like yesterday, but with Valentine and my lack of fighting ability… I'm more of a medic than a fighter. Valentine can go fight on the front lines, but I'll save more lives back in the triage area.

Valentine turns over the knife she's been carrying with her and glances up at me. "You okay?" I ask.

She nods stiffly. "Fine."

"Val?" I say tentatively. "Are you thinking about the boy from 6?"

Another short nod.

"Are you… are you guilty?"

She shakes her head.

"Why not?" I exclaim, aghast.

"I killed him," Valentine says hollowly. "He's dead."

"I know," I say gently. "I know he's dead."

"Why did I do it, Nora?" Valentine asks, her voice cracking as she looks up at me. Beside me, Rooster shifts in his sleep and I place a hand on his chest.

"I don't know," I say honestly, my voice soft and soothing. It's the same tone I use with patients when I'm trying to explain the extent of their injuries, or sometimes people with survivors' guilt. "I really don't know."

"That girl from 12 hates us now," she continues in her same empty voice. "She'll probably kill us now."

"Don't say that," I scold, but the thought has crossed my mind in the long hours of keeping Rooster from dying. "We're going to be fine."

"Are we?" Valentine whispers, her voice almost inaudible.

"Yes!" I say, more forcefully than I intended. "Yes, we will. We'll be fine."

Valentine just twirls her knife some more.

With fake cheerfulness, I say, "I'm tired, and it must be fairly early in the morning. I'm gonna take a nap, okay?"

Valentine nods.

"Great!" I exclaim. "Wake me when Rooster wakes up, okay?"

More nodding. I lay down, rolling onto my side so I don't have to look at Valentine, spinning her knife. What happened to the timid, cat-loving girl I sat with at lunch during training? The kind-hearted girl I allied with? Where did she go? Because pre-games Valentine and during-games Valentine are too very, very different people. I sigh and shut my eyes, hoping to get some much needed sleep.

…

When I wake up, I hear the sound of choking. I bolt upright, looking around the dark landscape wildly. Has someone attacked us? Did Valentine or Rooster eat something, and now their choking to death?

I turn my head toward Rooster and—oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god…

Valentine is kneeling over Rooster, whose throat has been slit wide open.

"Valentine!" I yell. "What did you do?"

Valentine calmly climbs to her feet as Rooster's cannon fires. "What I had to do," she says, her voice deathly calm.

"How could you?" I scream. "I spent the last three days trying to keep that boy alive—and you go and kill him? What has gotten into you?"

"I told you two days ago," Valentine replies. I notice a slight tremor in her voice, her shifty eyes, and I realize: _this girl is barely clinging to her sanity._ I back up, trying to put distance between me and Valentine, but she just keeps moving forward as I move backward. "we should just kill him. There's no point in helping him, because if he wins, that means we're dead."

"You said you were okay with it," I say accusingly. "You said it would be okay, as long as Rooster gives us credit." I feel the wind around us pick up, sending my hair blowing around my face. The Gamemakers must be trying to give us mood.

"I lied." Quick as a flash, Valentine seizes the knife she had dropped, and before I can so much as blink, she buries it into my chest. I scream, dropping to the ground, convulsing like someone is electrocuting me. With shaking hands, I take Laiya's little bunny, Snumbus, from my jacket and hold it to my chest.

"W-why?" I manage to wheeze.

"It's either you or me," Valentine says coldly. I can feel my conscious slipping, sliding further and further into the darkness of no return…

I join Camellia, Lark, the mother of two and her son… I join them all beyond the curtain, no matter how unwilling I truly am. No one wants to die.

 **Valentine Vizzolini, District 9 Female**

Oh my god. What did I just do? Oh my god, oh my god—I just killed Rooster and Nora! I'm a murderer! Oh my god…

 _You did what you had to do_ , says a voice in my head.

 _No, that's not right,_ counters another voice, a voice that sounds distinctly like Nora's. That's impossible. Nora's voice can't be in my head. She's right here. She's fine. Just asleep. I nudge my toe against Nora. "Wake up," I say. "You c-can wake up now."

She doesn't move. Does… does Nora usually sleep with her eyes open?

 _No, she doesn't_ , says the Nora-esque voice. _You killed her. She's dead. Because of you_.

"No," I say aloud. "That's impossible." I kick Nora again. "Come on, Nora, wake up. This isn't funny." My voice cracks. "This isn't funny! Nora, wake up! This isn't funny anymore!" I decide to try Rooster, but he is just as unresponsive. Why?! Why won't they wake up?!

"WAKE UP!" I shout in their faces, but they still remain silent and unmoving.

 _They're dead. Because of_ you.

"That's impossible!" I yell, but the voices just keep circulating through my head, whizzing around and shouting things and my head is pounding and I can't think and oh god make it stop make it _stop—_

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I take the knife from Nora's chest and turn it against my own.

 _NO!_ the voices in my head scream, but I don't listen. I plunge the knife into my chest, and finally the voices quiet. I collapse back against the crowd, smiling weakly to the sky. "Bye, Meggy…" I whisper, a feeling of content washing over me. Surely Nutmeg will be waiting for me. And Mom too, right? Dasher won't be, but surely Danner will. And maybe Dad will come home too! We could be the perfect family, and Nora could come visit! I could get to know Rooster as well! I remember hearing that he likes music… I think my dad knew how to play the guitar! He could teach Rooster, and everything will be perfect!

I drift off with the thoughts of paradise in my head, but the sun has set in paradise, too.

 **Ariella Winters, District 4 Female**

The sound of three cannon shots in quick succession makes us all start cheering. It may not be our kills, but hey, that brings us three people closer to the Final Eight, and the ultimate showdown, because Coin is such a fun sponge and is making us wait.

We wanted to leave Coin back at the Cornucopia when we went out hunting, but she made us leave Cash instead, which he obviously was very unhappy about. But the twin drama from 1 really isn't my problem. They'll all be dead soon anyway.

"HOLY SHIT!" Wake's shout rouses me from my thoughts.

"Hey, let's watch the language," Wren mutters. Coin shoots her a glare.

"What's the problem—" I start to say, until I see Wake on the ground with her foot stuck in a punji-stick trap. "Oh. That's the problem."

Wake keeps screaming swear words until Coin tells her to shut up. Thankfully, Wake obeys. Coin, with the help of Wren, lift her off the trap and set her on the tarry ground. Her foot looks more like a landscape than an appendage: the skin is cut up and stained red, a shredded range of bloody mountains. I gag. "Who did that?" I ask. "Whose trap is it?"

"Dunno," Coin says. "Could've been anyone." She sighs. "No matter who did it, we need to get Wake back to the Cornucopia so we can bandage this up."

"What? No!" Wake cries, her voice full of grit. "I'm fine. We've hardly gotten anyone at all, and it's been four days! I should have more kills under my belt!"

"That's nice, Wake," Coin says. "But you're going to bleed to death if you stay out here."

"Fine," Wake grumbles eventually.

"I'll help Wake back to the Cornucopia," Coin tells me and Wren. "You guys wanna stay out here, or come with?"

"We'll stay," I say immediately. I've been itching for some time away from Wake, and Wren is the second-most tolerable person in this whole alliance, below Coin.

"What?" Wake demands angrily.

"Deal with it," Wren says happily. As Coin and Wake begin the slow walk back toward the Cornucopia, Wren follows me deeper into the forest. We're heading toward the volcano to scope out the area there, since we assume it will be used for the finale, and we want to be prepared for when that happens. But before we make it too far, Wren spots a trail of footprints.

"Look," Wren says, pointing. "Footprints."

"What kind of footprints?" I ask.

"The human kind, dumbass," Wren says annoyedly.

"I thought you said to watch the language," I sneer.

"I lied," Wren says simply, kneeling down in the mud. She reaches out and touches one of the footprints. "Hey, don't our shoes have our districts on the bottom?"

"Yes," I reply. "Why?"

"We can figure out who was walking through here," Wren says. "Maybe it was whoever set the trap Wake stepped on. We can find them and kill them!"

I crouch beside Wren. "What number is on the prints?"

"It's a… four," Wren says, her face white and disbelieving. "Ariella?"

"It's not mine," I say defensively, standing up and placing my boot in the print. "See? My foot's way too small."

"Then there's only one other person who has fours on their shoes," Wren says. "And I don't think he was ever up here."

"Brookley," I breathe. "But he's dead."

"Cash said that he went to the bathroom when he died," Wren says thoughtfully. "But he wouldn't have come up this far."

"Besides, he went west," I say, thinking back to the first night when Cash came running into the clearing. "Wait… Brookley was talking to Cash when he was barfing in the river…"

"Brookley could have proposed…" Wren continues. "that he fake his own death?"

I nod slowly. "It… it fits." I straighten my back, anger suddenly filling my veins. "Let's follow the prints. I've got a certain district partner to skin alive."

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

The tar is hard to dig into. My punji sticks aren't very deep, probably not even deep enough to kill, at least not at first. Maybe from infection, but from the wound itself? Not likely. I don't have a shovel, and I doubt even it would have the power to get through this stuff. Admittedly, this makes my plan a little harder, (as if it wasn't difficult enough already!) making already slow-going work take even longer. I can't say I'm not exhausted, and it's only been four days!

Those three cannons shots I heard this morning definitely lifted my spirits in a twisted sort of way. I'm three people closer to home, but at the same time, three more people are dead. I haven't seen much of Rooster (well, that's a lie; I haven't seen him at all since the Bloodbath) and I hope none of those shots belonged to him. I didn't know him back in 10, but still, he's from home. He's familiar. His dialect, his appearance, his name, everything is familiar. It's more than I can say for anything else in this godforsaken arena.

I've been camping out in this little cave made by rocks at the base of the volcano. It's not far from the Cornucopia, which works well with my strategy: I'm slowly surrounding the Cornucopia with punji sticks, so once the finale rolls around, I'll be the only one who knows where they are and how to get over them. Everyone else will kill themselves trying to get to me. At least, that's the hope. I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch. After all, there's still eleven tributes to get through before I can go home.

I hear the anthem start playing and peek my head out of my little cave. The first face to appear is the girl from 9. She seemed nice. I think she liked cats. The next is… Rooster. I sit back against the wall of my cave, wondering how he died. Was it peaceful? Was it long and painful? Did he wonder if I would win while he was dying?

With renewed vigor, I decide that District 10 will, without a doubt, have a Victor this year. I don't care how many people I have to go through. I'll avenge Rooster. I'll avenge the twenty-three tributes in this arena that have to die for me to go home.

The third face is the girl from 11. That makes three districts completely out of the running. I wonder if the people back in 6, 9 and 11 are sad. Are they mourning? Or have they already moved on, like they do every year? 6 had a Victor a few years back, but the one before that had been almost thirty years before that. District 9 was the same. And so was 11, from what I can remember. Did they think they might be gifted another Victor this year, or did they just look at their tributes like lambs to the slaughterhouse, two children who will never have lives?

Thinking about lambs to the slaughterhouse feels weird, being called Lammy. Will I turn out as another lamb to the slaughter? Just another face in the sky? Dead with the sound of a cannon and a hovercraft coming to take my bloody body away? I shiver involuntarily. I don't want to die. Not like that. Not like any way. Not until I'm old and ready to retire to the silence.

As soon as the fallen disappear, I crawl back into my cave. I don't have much, but at least I managed to get a knife from the Cornucopia, or else these traps would be even slower. Beside me, I have a thin, white blanket, and a pile of black sticks that I'm slowly whittling away to make sharp and ready to stuck into the ground.

I wonder if anyone has stepped on my traps yet. Would they be dead? Would I be credited with their death? Would it hurt? I bet it would. If this ground was easier, stepping on my traps would be a one-way ticket to Deathville, population: twenty-three twelve-year-olds and hundreds upon thousands of other dead children.

I don't want a ticket to Deathville, thank you very much. I'll pass.

I still can't believe that Rooster is dead. I remember in his interview, when he talked about wanting to learn to play the guitar and how he liked jazz music. He mentioned about his buddies… what were their names? Sawyer and something-or-another, I can't remember.

But maybe I don't want to remember. Maybe I don't want to remember the names of my dead district partner's friends. Maybe I'd rather forget. Maybe I'd rather forget Rooster is dead at all. But I know I can't. I have to remember the fallen. I have to remember the twenty-three children that gave their lives for me to go home, right? If I forget them, eventually no one will be around to remember them.

I shake my head. I need to stop thinking these thoughts and instead focus on the task at hand. I still have to win the Games. I still have to kill eleven other tributes— _twelve-year-old children_ —and manage to survive all the carnage that will certainly follow.

I don't want to think like that. I don't want to descend into madness.

…I don't want to die.

 **A/N: Any surprising deaths? Was Valentine's bout of insanity a surprise or totally expected? We've only twelve tributes left in the arena now, and things won't be slowing down anytime soon.**

 **Eulogies:**

 **15** **th** **Place: Rooster: this guy was a riot to write. He was funny, sarcastic, and clever. He had great plans for the Games, but unfortunately, his tale came to a bitter end when Wake attacked him and Valentine went crazy. Thank you, CragmiteBlaster, for such a fun little thief. RIP.**

 **14** **th** **Place: Nora: this girl was so, so sweet. I loved writing about her guilt over the patients she lost, her relationship with her little sister, and her friendship with Valentine. Thank you, Emberlex, for a sweet healer who unfortunately couldn't make it to the end. RIP.**

 **13** **th** **Place: Valentine: the Games changed this girl. Before they started, she was kind, timid, and quiet, but by the time her story came to a close, she had descended into madness and ended up with four kills under her belt. Thank you,** _ **AmazonWarrior04, for a cat-loving girl who went off the deep end. RIP.**_

 _ **-Amanda**_


	25. Interlude - In the Districts

**A/N: Okay this can't really count as a chapter but I wanted to get something out today and I don't have time (or motivation or energy) to write an entire chapter, so we got this like two hundred work interlude. I think it's pretty okay.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 23.5 – In the Districts**

In District 1, Dollar Quinneton wonders which of his siblings will come home victorious, hailed above all else.

In District 2, Wonder Hammerfort waits for his sister. He knows that when she comes home, he will finally be safe. And so he waits.

In District 3, Alden Tammel cries. He cries, and he'll cry forevermore.

In District 4, Stella Winters grabs her shoes. She doesn't know when (or if) Ariella will be able to steal them.

In District 5, Ant Willodean doesn't know where his sister is. Wren should have been back by now, shouldn't she? She knows not to stay out for so long. Mom and Dad won't be happy when she comes home.

In District 6, Infiniti Mercedust is heartbroken. Tesla had been through so much. She didn't deserve to die like this. …Ford Canters doesn't even know that his daughter is dead.

In District 7, the trees are silent. The birds don't sing. The squirrels don't chatter. No one makes a sound. They are all wondering where the girl who climbs with them has gone.

In District 8, no one is worried about Avia. It will be better if she's gone, won't it?

In District 9, Nutmeg mews. She mews and she mews and she mews, but Valentine never comes to comfort her.

In District 10, Bull Phyronix can't hold off the trapping trip any longer. He wonders if he will know if Lammy dies, or if he'll find out his only child is dead when he returns to town.

In District 11, Laiya Caffler can't understand why everyone is so sad. Nora is happy now, isn't she? With that girl from the table and Snumbus and all those people who had to go away?

In District 12, the square is crowded. Liana has a chance, and that fills them with hope.

 **A/N: See, I told you. Short. But maybe I'll get a spike of motivation later and I'll post something else. I don't know.**

 **-Amanda**


	26. Day 5 - A Clash of Fishes

**A/N: Woo! Here we go! Day 5!**

 **Also, I'm sorry if there are any speech tags or anything in past tense in this chapter. I was writing in past tense for something else and now I have to get myself to snap out of it.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 24 – A Clash of Fishes**

 **Bennett Weiss, District 3 Male**

"Avia, do you hear something?" I tilt my head to the side, looking up at dark, smoky sky.

"No," Avia replies, staring as well. "Don't worry, Bennett. We're fine."

I hear the sound again, a strange buzzing sound. It sounds like a flock of cicadas, all buzzing and hissing in unison. The sound jumps, like it's being conducted in an orchestra. "Come on, you heard that."

"I did," Avia admits. "Do you think it's a mutt?"

"Maybe," I say. "We should keep moving." I stand up, gesturing for Avia to follow. "Let's go this way."

"That's toward the Cornucopia," Avia whines. "We can't that go! That's the where the bad guys are!"

"I don't know, maybe we can force the mutts on them," I say with a shrug. "I don't know what kind of mutts they are, but I know I don't want to tangle with them."

Avia looks down, reluctantly following me. "Bennett?" she says eventually.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"Am I going to die?"

For a moment, I'm speechless. Completely unable to say a word. Finally, I splutter, "Of course not! We're fine, we're perfectly f-fine."

Avia looks at me oddly. "But this is the Hunger Games, right? Don't we all have to die?"

"No!" I exclaim more forcefully than I intended. "I mean, no, of course not. Don't worry, Av. I'll protect you. Everything will be okay."

Avia beams. "Okay!" She skips ahead, excited and cheerful once more. How that girl has lived this long, I don't think I'll ever know. I don't really mind it, though. I think I'd go crazy without her company to keep me sane.

The buzzing sound has somewhat receded, but it's still there, like it's trying to lull us into a false sense of security. A shiver involuntarily runs down my spine. Whatever is making that noise, I do not want to meet. I walk faster.

As we hurry along, I mentally go through the tributes I know are still in the arena. Well, I know the girl from 2 is still around, and I think the pair from 1 is… and I think I saw the boy from 10 in the sky last night, and I know Jaz is dead.

Only now do I truly realize that Jaz is dead. She's not just sick, or at home, or injured, or taken out of the Games. She's _dead_. She, along with twelve other tributes, are actually, truly, really dead. They're gone, forever, never going to return to their families and never going to live full lives. They were twelve for god's sake! Twelve years isn't nearly enough time—there's still things _I_ want to do! There's still so many games I haven't tested, so many things I haven't seen, so many people I haven't met! And I'm not even dead yet. But those tributes are. They will never get a life, and so will eleven of the remaining people in this godforsaken volcanic arena.

I pull in a breath and quickly exhale it, doing it over and over until I start to feel light-headed and Avia rushes over to me. "Bennett!" she exclaims. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did a mutt get you?"

"No—no," I stammer. "I'm f-fine. Just… just scared."

"Oh," Avia breathes, looking at me with a hint of… disgust, on her face? No, no, she's probably just scared, too. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I say, shakily getting to my feet. "Let's keep moving."

"Okay," Avia says uncertainly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," I snapped. "I'm perfectly fine. I just kind of panicked."

Avia gave me another weird look, shrugged, and never mentioned the incident again.

 **Brookley Lepplings, District 4 Male**

I'm really thirsty.

And hungry.

And sick.

And just overall swimming in regret.

I couldn't grab supplies from the Cornucopia when I faked my death. Someone might have noticed. And besides, I didn't think I'd need it. After all, I'm popular with the crowds, right? I should have been sponsored a fully-stocked pantry by now, but nothing! Not even a small bottle of water or—or some food, or a blanket or some bandages. Hell, I'd take anything right, just because it would show that I had someone rich on my side!

All I have is a trident. No one else in the Careers uses them, so I figured no one would miss this. Besides, I took this one from four or five identical ones. It won't be missed.

It's a small comfort, though. I did manage to spear this weird-mutt-rabbit yesterday, and it was the only thing I've had to eat since I left the Careers. I really don't know what made me do it. I was scared and all the infighting was making me nervous, and all I could think about was that I needed to get out. I should have stayed with the Careers. If I had stayed with the Careers, I wouldn't be what I am now, stumbling drunkenly through the dark, dying of hunger and dehydration.

You know, I'm starting to understand why I suddenly have no sponsors.

I've just been wandering. I've been around the base of the volcano. I want to see if there's something on the other side of it. Surely there is, right? Or maybe there's just a forcefield there. Either way, it's something to do, and it makes me feel productive.

It's about midday when I pick up on footsteps behind me. I slowly turn around, feeling shaky on my feet, holding my trident best I can and come face to face with my worst fear:

Ariella Winters.

She stands there, on the other end of the clearing with murder clear in her eyes. She has a knife in each hand, and behind her, Wren Willodean from 5 is holding nothing but her fists, looking ready for a fight but not quite as eager as her friend.

Ariella shoves her little pack off her shoulders and into Wren's arms. "Hold this," she demands. "I need to skin someone alive."

I take a shaky step backward, holding my trident in preparation for a fight. We circle each other for a moment, Wren looking on with a look like she doesn't know what she should be doing.

"How did you figure it out?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Should've covered your footprints," Ariella replies curtly. "Did you make the punji stick trap?"

"Punji stick trap?" I repeat, incredulous. "I don't even know how to make those, Ari."

Ariella's face contorts with rage, and I know I've made a fatal mistake. She raises her knives, and charges.

The next five minutes are a blur of blood, grunting and slashing. She stabs, I dodge, I stab, she dodges. We go around and around and around, and I notice that Ariella is pushing me up the volcano's side…

"Wren, stop standing there and help!" Ariella yells as she makes a stab for my head. I duck in time, sending her off balance, and I try to pin her to the ground.

The next thing I know, someone has their hands around my neck, pulling me away from Ariella and effectively cutting off my air supply. I kick my legs desperately, hearing a muffled, "Shit!", suddenly feeling air rush back into my lungs. I gulp it down greedily. Panting, I stagger to my feet, stumbling further up the caldera, dimly aware of a bleeding stab wound in my stomach…

I tighten my grip on my trident to the point where my knuckles turn white and turn around to face Ariella and Wren. The world sways beneath my feet, spinning and swimming, and I notice how close the edge of the volcano is… the lava bubbling, way down and out of reach, out of mind…

Ariella slowly stalks toward me, and I feel a stab of pride. I really did a number on her. Her shoulder has deep trident marks on it, slowly oozing blood, her shirt is ripped and stained red, and a gash on her forehead is leaking blood into her eyes. Still, she keeps moving, forcing me closer and closer to the magma, certain death. Would I rather die from a stab wound to the stomach or drowning in lava? The latter would be quicker, and I probably wouldn't even feel anything. It would be like falling asleep… I'm so tired… sleep sounds good…

Wren hangs back, looking reluctant to engage in our fight, but Ariella stands before me with hatred burning in her eyes. I take a step back, only to find myself teetering dangerously on the edge of the volcano. The heat rises toward me, practically boiling my brains.

"Nowhere left to run," Ariella whispers, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the volcano. It's not erupting yet—but still, the lava bubbles, making it hardly dormant and safe.

I raise my trident with shaking hands. "Bring it on."

Ariella obliges. She closes the distance between us faster than I thought humanly possible—one second, she's twenty feet away from me, the next, she's right in front of me, prepared to kill. She must have lost one of her knives during our fight, as she now only brandishes one. It's red.

I stab my trident toward her neck at the same time as she pushes she me backward. I lose my footing, my uncoordinated feet skidding along the rough volcano caldera, as the trident spears through her neck.

I seem to fall in slow motion. People talk about your life flashing before your eyes—but all I can think about is the that I'll never see Sereina grow up. She won't know her big brother Brookley. All she'll have is Dariya and Aqua…

The heat rises as fall closer and closer to the lava. I'm inches away when I shut my eyes, exhaling my final breathing, vaguely aware of a cannon firing above me… but it can't be my cannon, not if I'm still aware of it…

The last thing that registers is the heat. And then comes black.

 **Wren Willodean, District 5 Female**

 _BOOM! BOOM!_

The cannons ring out in quick succession, confirming what I already knew: Brookley and Ariella are dead. Could I have saved Ariella? If I had fought more aggressively, would she still be alive? But all I did was stand there… that's not like me at all. Why am I like this now? I fought so well, so hard, back in 5, why should the arena be any different?

I don't know how long I stand here, just staring at Ariella's body, nothing really registering with me. I feel numb. All of that happened so fast—one minute, Ariella and I were talking about our favorite colors, and the next, she's attacking her district partner and pushing him into volcanoes.

This feels wrong.

It's wrong, it's so, so wrong. Everything about these Games are wrong. These people—these children, these _twelve-year-old children_ —shouldn't be dead. Why did I willingly subject myself to this torture? Why did I _choose_ to enter these horrific Games?

Not really seeing where I'm going, I stumble down the caldera, passing a large collection of boulders without really even noticing that it's there. Eventually, I make it to the base of the volcano, to the spot where this fight started.

I thought I was perfectly prepared for this. I thought I was as ready as I could ever be. And I am, at least in physical aspects. But mentally? Mentally, I'm about as useful as a sack of potatoes. I look up at the dark sky. So many unnecessary deaths… twenty-three people that will never see the sun, real or fake, again. Why can't the Gamemakers at least give us the courtesy of sunlight? Or do they just really like watching twelve-year-olds stumble like drunks through the darkness?

I have to circle around half of the volcano. Ariella and I tracked Brookley that far from the Cornucopia, and we never really thought about how we'd get back. Ariella is—was—a more 'do first, as questions later' kind of person. And before the Games, I was too. Before the Games, I fought like a maniac. Before the Games, I was normal. Innocent. _Sane_. But now… now, I'm none of those things. I'm not normal, I'm not innocent, I'm not anything a twelve-year-old should be.

As I walk, I think back to when I saw Cash kill Alby in the bloodbath. He did is seamlessly, without thinking or hesitation. Of course, Cash was horribly beaten up about it later, but still… he did it. He didn't stand there wondering if it was worth it. And back then, I don't think I would have either.

Goddamnit, why can't I be like the Careers? Killing doesn't bother them! And it didn't bother me… until I'm forced to do it. I haven't killed anyone yet, but how can I ever go home without doing it? In the past one-hundred-fifty years, not a single tribute has gotten out without killing at least one person! I can't do this. I can't do this.

Eventually, I make it back to the Cornucopia. Wake is sitting with her good leg tucked to her chest, the bandaged one sticking straight out in front of her, staring off into space as Coin sifts around the supplies. Cash is seated on the top of the Horn of Plenty, a spear on his lap, lazily drawing circles with his fingers on the obsidian.

At the sound of my footsteps, Wake looks up. "Took you long enough. I would assume you guys got someone." She sees that I'm alone. "Hey, where's 4?"

"Gone," I say simply.

Wake growls. "Great, just great."

"Hey, have you guys seen the water?" Coin calls from within the slowly dwindling sea of supplies. Seas… Ariella… District 4…

"No," Wake says. "It's been five days, Coin, have you really not checked for water?"

"We've been using the stuff from the remaining packs," Coin replies. "I haven't thought to check for the water crate."

Suddenly Wake groans. "10…"

"Huh?" I say, looking around. Has she spotted the girl from 10? …Will I be expected to kill her?

"That stupid boy from 10," Wake snarls, and I breath a sigh of relief. No more child murder today. "He dumped the crate in lava after the Bloodbath."

"What?" Coin exclaims. "Wake, do you understand what that means?"

"We have to find water elsewhere, I know," Wake says off-handedly.

"No," Coin says forcefully, her face pale. "There isn't a place to find water elsewhere. I don't think there's any water left in the Cornucopia."

I blanche. "You're kidding."

"Unfortunately not," Coin says sadly. She sinks to her knees. "So, this is it. We're screwed."

"Sponsors!" I exclaim. "I mean, we could get sponsors."

"Haven't you noticed, Wren?" Coin asks, flopping on the ground and laying spread-eagled. "None of us have gotten any sponsors yet. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. We're dead."

"We just have to make the Games go fast," Wake says. "If we finish it in under three days, we won't die from dehydration—"

"We've been in here for five days, Wake!" Coin cries. "and we haven't found a single tribute. Nobody. And while I'd love to leave it to everyone else, that's not going to happen."

"And it's the cowardly thing to do," Wake says tartly.

"Yes, whatever," Coin says. "Maybe we'll get lucky…"

I want to believe Coin. I want to agree that that is probably what will happen. But so far, the odds have not been in our favor, and I have a feeling that won't be changing anytime soon.

 **A/N: And here we. Down to just ten tributes left in the arena. Final Eight predictions anyone? Victor predictions? Placing predictions? I always love hearing what you guys think.**

 **Eulogies:**

 **12** **th** **Place: Ariella: I'm not going to lie, I considered this girl as my Victor once. But with the fact that some people really didn't like her and that I felt she didn't possess the needed skills to the be the Victor, this is where she ended up. A wrath-filled girl, with a desperate need for revenge, and willing to do anything to gain that, she really was something. Thanks to TeamShadow for this mischievous, snarky Career. RIP.**

 **11** **th** **Place: Brookley: I find it ironic that Brookley actually ended placing higher than Ariella. Still, I enjoyed writing this guy immensely. He had just the right amount of cockiness, sass, and love for his family. But he made a fatal mistake in betraying the Careers, putting a very large target on his back, and this is where it led him. Thank you, AnnaBanana, for a sassy, daredevil of a tribute. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	27. Day 6 - Sponsors We Beg of You

**A/N: And here we are, Day 6 in the arena! The tributes are scrambling to find water, all the while trying to avoid dying, and a few are trying to piece their sanities back together. *cough cough* Wren *cough cough*.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 25 – Sponsors We Beg of You**

 **Echo Shamir, District 7 Male**

"Come on, Macy, run faster!" I yell, eyeing the mutt of mysterious species chasing us. It's large, hairy, so black it blends in well with the arena, with glowing yellow eyes and snarling rows upon rows of teeth. I would not want to be

"Tree, quick!" Macy shouts, pointing to a dense tree trunk right in our path. "Up!" she cries, already clambering for the branches. I start pulling myself up as well, kicking at the mutt's snapping jaws as I hurry higher and higher.

Finally we reach a spot high enough that the mutt can reach, unless it suddenly sprouts wings and—no, no, don't jinx it. Somehow the Gamemakers will read my mind or something and then it _will_ sprout wings and come after us. Then we're really screwed.

The past few days have been hell. I'm not sure if all the tributes are having this much trouble, what with mutts running rampant and it appearing that there's not a single drop of water left in this arena. But either way, it has been for Macy and I. We've been on the move, afraid to stay still for too long and risk having something come after us. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and it probably won't be the last. We ran out of water a day ago, and the food a day before that… and there's nothing in this arena that is even remotely edible. Everything we've found we've been too afraid to try, for fear of being poisoned and dying after a painful thirty-six hour seizure.

How has my life come to this? Just wandering through black woods with nothing but a river of magma as light and the only thing keeping me sane being Macy's presence. If we'd been split up, I think we both would have gone off the deep end long before now.

If I wasn't so dehydrated and hungry and tired and my face hurts pretty bad too—but, um, where was I? Oh, yeah, if all those things weren't happening, I would probably be thinking a lot more about what all this means. I have a theory, and although it's probably unlikely and terrible, Macy and I have been in less than peak condition in the past few days, and I'm starting to fear one of us slipped up somewhere.

See, I think they've figured it out. Somewhat, at least. Enough to know I did something against the law, and that gives them the right to take away our food and water and constantly throw mutts at us until we finally, finally die—um, I mean, they must have some semblance of what I've done.

I don't know why it doesn't scare me. Shallow could be arrested, could be executed, but I just sort of feel numb to all of it. I feel like Macy and I live on a different plain of reality or something. Like we're floating in our own pocket dimension, in a universe completely separate from the rest of the tributes in the arena, and the entirety of Panem. Nothing feels real here.

I've been considering splitting up with Macy. I don't want her to die because of me. But… I don't know if I can. I'll admit it; I've become attached. If it comes down to the two of us, I'll turn around and walk away, content to let the elements claim one of us. But it's not like that will ever happen. The final two are _never_ from the same District. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience to see that happen. And with everything that's been happening recently… the hope is slowly draining from my body.

"Um, Shallow?" Macy whispers, tapping my shoulder. I furrow my brow, following Macy's finger to where she's pointing.

For a moment, I'm silent. And then I say disbelievingly, "I need a new word that starts with _f_."

Tracker Jackers. A whole buzzing hive of them, hanging a mere ten feet above our heads. I look down, and see that the black mutt is still there, its snapping jaws and sharp claws waiting for us if we try to escape.

"What do we do?" Macy whispers. "We can't go down, but we can't stay here…"

My heads swivels around as I look for some way to escape. Finally I spot a tree branch sticking out of another tree, about fifteen feet away from us, that we _might_ be able to jump to. It's a long shot, and missing would mean certain death… but won't staying here mean that too? At least this way, we have a chance of survival.

"Macy," I say, tapping her shoulder. "Let's jump to that branch."

She gapes for a moment before setting her jaw. "Okay." Her voice is filled with steely resolve, and I wish I could say the same for mine, but I can't.

"I'll go first," I offer, carefully climbing out toward the branch. The limb I'm crawling on bucks, in a way that I know the Gamemakers designed, but all I do is hold on tighter.

"Careful, Shallow…" Macy warns. "The bees…" She points back to the nest, with all the buzzing tracker jackers, enough venom in their stingers to kill us, or at least give us such horrible hallucinations that our lovely mutt friend down there will be able to eat us without opposition.

"I know," I say bracingly, wishing I could get a running start for this. I've never been much of a jumper but… it's either this or die, Echo, either this or die. Of course, I could still die even if I do attempt this… but I need to stop thinking like that.

I take a deep breath, and jump.

My hands barely close around the end of the branch, leaving me hanging with my feet dangling dangerously close to the mutt's excited, slobbering jaws. I inhale sharply, my eyes bulging as I try to pull myself closer to the safety of the tree trunk. The mutt continues biting at my feet, and finally the branch gets thick enough to really support my weight. I pull myself up, crawling the rest of the way until I reach the trunk, panting. I really did that. I didn't fall into the mutt's jaws. I didn't die!

I watch as Macy makes her way out on the branch, noticing that the mutt seems to… shrink back, almost. "If I die, make sure this makes the highlight reel, okay?" Macy calls, preparing to jump. She launches herself across the gap, and for a moment I think she's going to miss the branch. And then it… grows longer? Macy looks at it, stunned, before hurrying toward me and away from the mutt's deadly teeth.

"Did you see that?" she pants. "I must be hallucinating. I wonder if a tracker jacker stung me?"

"I don't think so," I reply. "I've seen the effects of tracker jacker venom, and that's certainly not it. Besides, I'd have to have been, too. I saw the branch grow."

"Huh," Macy breathes. She looks down at the mutt, prowling around the base of our tree. "Do you think we can just wait it out? Will it leave?"

"I'm not sure," I say honestly. "It might."

It doesn't.

 **Avia Kasiani, District 8 Female**

"Good morning, Bennett!" I exclaim as Bennett sits up, wiping sleep from his eyes. "How are you today?"

Bennett smiles groggily. "Hungry. Thirsty. But I'm okay. Are you?"

"I'm thirsty, too," I say, and I'm not lying. The thirst gnaws at my throat and mouth, demanding sustenance. I can't believe all the water is gone! Bennett and I didn't have much to begin with, but at least we had enough that we wouldn't die from dehydration! And that is _not_ how I am going to die! "But I'm feeling optimistic!" I slide my arm over Bennett's shoulder, feeling slightly disgusted with myself but doing it nonetheless. "Who knows, maybe we'll get a sponsor gift. Wouldn't that be amazing? I can almost taste the water now!" I look up at the sky expectantly, almost allowing myself to really hope that a parachute might be making its way to the ground.

But nothing. The sky is still black, still dreary, and completely void of parachutes. I slump defeatedly. "But I guess that's okay, too… I mean, there has to be water in the arena _somewhere_! Everyone knows how boring it is to watch a bunch of kids stumble around in the dark dying of dehydration!" I giggle, wishing I had chosen to put on a different façade than this.

"I don't know, Av," Bennett says quietly. "Maybe that's what they want. Maybe they want us to go by dehydration. Or maybe there's something in the arena, and we're just missing it."

"You're probably right!" I exclaim. In a bold move that sends a stab of exhilaration through my body, I lift my hand and cup Bennett's cheek. "We'll figure this out. We always do!"

He smiles, although it looks a little bit forced. "Yeah, I guess we do." I can see it in his eyes. He's not focusing on what he's saying, he focusing on _me_ , the naïve, optimistic, innocent little girl that he thinks he has to protect. Pfft. I can protect myself, thank you very much. Which is the exact reason that I'm doing this, right now.

I lean toward him, hoping I can do it before our lips actually touch. I don't have water that I can wash them off with, and I don't know if I'll ever get over kissing _that_. My hand searches behind me for a moment before closing around the item I need. Everything going according to plan.

"We always do," I repeat.

He nods. "And we'll figure this out, too."

I giggle. "Always."

I lift the knife in my hand and slit his throat. He falls back against the ground, spluttering and choking on his own blood. "W-w-why-y…?" he manages, coughing blood onto my shirt.

Disgusted, I try to wipe the stain off my clothes. "You outlived your uses," I say simply. "So I disposed of you."

He looks like he's trying to say more, but all that comes out is more blood. I take a step away from him, glaring. "You disgust me."

Tears well in his eyes. They leak out, slowly making their way down his cheeks until the light dims in his eyes and the cannon fires. A feeling I can't name fills my body, and I look up the sky. "Mom, Dad," I say, shaking my head with a smirk on my face. "You're really going to have to learn to lock front door now. I don't know if I can ever come down from this."

I use Bennett's shirt to wipe the blood off my knife, setting out to find water. With the adrenaline pumping through my veins, the thirst seems less terrible, less urgent. Still, I walk at a brisk pace, wondering how I'll find water. Maybe I _really_ will get a sponsor gift, after I killed Bennett. I stop walking for a moment, hopefully looking to the sky.

I start walking again, disappointed. Suddenly I hear the sound of trumpets, and I jump.

"ATTENTION, ATTENTION TRIBUTES!" Orion Garnet, the announcer of the Games, booms through the arena. "CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING IT THIS FAR INTO THE GAMES! AS MANY OF YOU HAVE FIGURED OUT, THERE APPEARS TO BE NO WATER LEFT IN THE ARENA. FEAR NOT, AS TOMORROW AT DAWN, THERE WILL BE A FEAST HELD AT THE CORNUCOPIA FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE. WATER AND FOOD WILL BE RESTOCKED FOR THE FEAST, BUT THINK TWICE ABOUT NOT ATTENDING.

"ALL SUPPLIES THAT GO UNCLAIMED WILL BE TAKEN OUT OF THE ARENA ONCE THE FEAST IS DEEMED OVER. GOOD DAY AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR."

I freeze. A feast? Feasts always involve death. I smile maliciously and change course for the Cornucopia.

 **Wake Hammerfort, District 2 Female**

"Are you sure that there's no water, at all?" Cash asks for the twenty-eighth time in the past hour. I would know, I've been counting.

"Yes," Coin says irritably. "I'm sure. I've check. _Multiple times_ , may I add."

Suddenly, we hear the sound of trumpets. We exchange uncertain looks, and the voice of Orion Garnet begins to boom through the arena. "ATTENTION, ATTENTION TRIBUTES! CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING IT THIS FAR INTO THE GAMES! AS MANY OF YOU HAVE FIGURED OUT, THERE APPEARS TO BE NO WATER LEFT IN THE ARENA. FEAR NOT, AS TOMORROW AT DAWN, THERE WILL BE A FEAST HELD AT THE CORNUCOPIA FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE."

Yes! A Feast! There's always deaths at feasts. And water! Finally, Cash can _shut up_. I don't listen to the rest of announcement, too excited to care about what they're talking about.

Coin climbs to her feet as Orion's voice fades from the arena. "Well," she says decisively. She surveys the meager remaining supplies around us. "Let's push all the supplies we still into that corner, so we have plenty of room for the stuff we'll need to claim at the Feast tomorrow."

"You're right," Cash agrees, and they both start moving the few crates we still have around.

I cock my head to the side, hearing the sound of sonar. A sponsor gift! If I could stand for longer than fifteen seconds without my leg giving out, I would jump to my feet and snatch it out of the sky. It lands next to me with a dull _thud_ , and I hurry to open it, hoping to find water.

It's not.

It's a small tub of some sort of cream. Medicine! For my foot! Obviously. Thank god, now I'll actually be able to fight tomorrow.

I take the lid off, tossing it onto the ground and pulling my leg toward me. I quickly unwrap the bandages and start trying to put the cream on. It quickly turns out that my arms aren't long enough, even with my it pulled toward me, and I'm not all that flexible. I keep trying to apply it out of sheer refusal to ask someone for help.

Eventually Coin walks over. "What are you doing?" she exclaims, kneeling next to me. "What is that?"

"A sponsor gift," I say.

"Why didn't you ask someone else to put it on?" Coin asks, ripping the container out of my hands.

"Hey!" I exclaim, reaching for it and feeling useless.

Coin quickly starts to apply the cream, practically slapping bandages on, and as soon as she finishes, she jumps to her feet and hurries away.

I look over at 5, sitting with her chin resting on her elbows, crisscross, on the river bank. She looks beyond depressed, and I roll my eyes. Someone got attached, and not just to her district partner either.

Slowly, I get to my feet, moving very slowly and painfully through the meager remaining supplies. I watch Cash slide a crate off of something, and when I see what was under the box, I feel like jumping for joy. As fast as I can move right now, I rush toward the kusarigama and snatch it up, the cool metal against my skin feeling refreshing. I swing it around once. Man, how I missed this.

I make my way over to Coin, who is holding a stack of blankets, when she suddenly freezes. "Wait," she says. "Didn't Orion say the feast would take place at dusk? When is that? The sun never sets or rises here."

"Hm," Cash says. "I guess we cross that bridge when we get to it."

I roll my eyes. Perfect solution. I sit down with my kusarigama, for a moment feeling that everything is finally falling into place. It won't be long before we reach the final eight, and then I can rip the other Careers apart, limb from limb, and then it will be a breeze through to Victory. Saving Wonder is so close I can almost taste it.

 **A/N: With a Feast on the horizon and the final eight so close, how will our tributes fare? Who will go in the feast?**

 **Eulogies:**

 **10** **th** **Place: Bennett: Bennett was so much fun to write, especially his interactions with Avia. I always got excited when I got to write him a POV or a POV he was in, but I knew he wasn't cut out to a Victor, especially once he joined forces with Avia. Still, he was great fun. Thank you, IciclePower33, for a stuttering game tester who unfortunately didn't have the skills he needed. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	28. Day 7 - The Feast and the Fallen

**A/N: And here it is, the feast. The tributes have now been in the arena for a whole week, and only nine of them remain. Who will survive to be part of the Final Eight? How much longer will the Games go on? I can guarantee it will be less than the fifteen days I originally had planned.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 26 – The Feast and the Fallen**

 **Cash Quinneton, District 1 Male**

There is no dusk. There is no dawn. We've been sitting here for almost two hours, trying to figure out when they want us to start fighting, and we're no closer to a solution than we were when we first sat down. It's hopeless. Eventually, the supplies will rise into the arena, and none of us will be ready. At the same time, no one else will be prepared for it, either. We could have the upper hand, as all the supplies would be there with next to no opposition, but in the words of Wake, "Where's the fun in that?"

In other news, Wake's foot is better than it was yesterday. Whatever that medicine was that she got, it sure worked wonders for her. It must have cost a fortune, meaning Wake has some rich guy out there that likes her enough to fix her foot, but not enough to give her (us) water. Figures.

"Let's just go… I don't know, prowl around," Coin says eventually, her voice worn out and tired. I take a moment to survey my sister. A memory forces it way forward, of Coin and I at just nine years old. We made a pact together, that if we ever went into the Hunger Games, we wouldn't hurt each other. We'd find a way to win together. Coin made me pinkie-promise on it and everything. I vaguely remember my words, back then.

" _Come on, Coin, that's dumb." Coin had just shaken her head. "No, it's not. We can't hurt each other, Cash! We're family, we're twins!" Finally, I had agreed to Coin's pact, shaking her hand and promising on my life._

We were so little back then, so naïve. No idea that we'd really go into the Games together, and really have to fight each other. But I guess… I guess I don't feel as bad anymore. It's just part of the process. Either Coin goes or I go, and I certainly am not going anytime soon. Maybe when I'm eighty. But not twelve. That's Coin's job.

I sit down at the base of a tree, content to wait it out with my spear in my lap. Even thinking about killing again like I did with the boy from 8 makes me have to force down vomit, but I suppose I am starting to come to terms with the idea. It doesn't seem quite as terrifying and daunting as it once did, now that I've done it…

I shiver as a sudden cold breeze blows through the clearing. Is this their signal? Is the Feast starting? I look expectantly toward the center of the Cornucopia clearing, hoping to see a table covered in water rise, but there is nothing. The arena is eerily silent, and I can't help but feel a sense of foreboding.

The wind blows again, jostling my hair and forcing me to look back out into the clearing. The eerie silence continues, the wind quickly picking up speed and force. I spot Coin across the clearing, hidden in the trees with an ax in her left hand. Wake is limping around somewhere deep in the horn, out of the wind, and Wren is… wherever she wants to be. I don't pay attention to outliers, whether or not they're in our alliance. They're not up to our caliber, and Wren is no exception.

I stand up, leaning against my tree and wondering when this thing is actually going to begin. This time, when the wind blows, it almost knocks me over. I step back, trying to steady myself, the cold air the wind brings stinging my face. I pull up my hood, trying to protect my ears.

I see movement in the trees not far from me and begin to follow when the sound of a horn so loud it may as well be right next to my ear blows through the entire arena, making me feel half deaf. I see a table stocked with crates of water and boxes of food rise in the center of clearing, and immediately the only thing on my mind is quenching my thirst.

Wake charges out of the Cornucopia at the same time as a blur of black hair sprints out from the trees a few feet away from me.

So this is it. The Feast has begun.

 **Liana Arla, District 12 Female**

I'm so _thirsty_. All I can think about is the water on the table, to quench my undying thirst, I can't deal with it, I can't _deal with it_ —

Only after I chugged a bottle of water do I notice the girl from 2, holding a strange looking weapon on a chain, grinning wickedly at me. I take a step back, dropping the bottle of water I was holding, looking around wildly for a weapon I can use to defend myself. Finally, I spot a spear half-hidden beneath a pile of blankets. Oh, with this cold wind, I would really like to curl up under those and go to sleep right about now…

I dive for the spear at the same time as Wake charges, swinging her sickle-on-a-chain close, so close to where I had been standing not ten seconds before. My hand closes around the spear's handle, and I yank it out from under the blankets, sending the stack toppling and blowing away in the wind. There are other people around us, fighting, I think, but I can't be bothered to focus on them with Wake bearing down upon me.

Jumping to my feet, I lift the spear awkwardly. Damn, why couldn't I have gotten an ax?

"Thought you could outrun me." Wake smirks, launching herself toward me. She fights well, way better than I do, but I do manage a shallow stab at her left shoulder. Anger dancing in her eyes, she rips off a wad of her shirt and ties it around the wound as she kicks me in the ribs, sending me staggering backward. I flip over the table, landing on my back, very lucky to have not broken my neck. My chest is covered in cuts, some worse than others, courtesy of Wake's scythe-thingy. I'm starting to feel light-headed from the blood loss, but I stagger to my feet and rejoin the fight.

Suddenly something—or someone—slams into my back, sending me toppling toward the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so, so sorry!" the sweetest voice I've ever heard exclaim. With a voice like that, I feel like they were going to kneel and help me up, but the only thing that happens is Wake's appearance above me, her bloody weapon hanging menacingly in her grip.

"Say bye-bye, 12," she whispers, her voice sickly sweet. She brings down the sickle-chain on my face, and I see nothing more.

 **Macy Barker, District 7 Female**

At the sound of a cannon shot, a thought strikes me. I'm in the Final Eight. They'll be interviewing my friends, my family. Of course, if I survive the next ten minutes, that is.

My grip tightens around the handle of my ax, my knuckles turning white as I join the fray, pointing for Echo to stay put, hidden in the trees. I duck as someone lobs a knife at me—poorly, if I might add—and make my sprint for the supplies. I tuck a large bottle of water under my arm, dodging a swing from Wake's kusarigama. As I kick… someone, in the back, I hear another cannon shot and see the girl from 8's body falling to the ground, landing with an unceremonious _thud_.

I don't dwell on it, trying to shake it off and make it out of here alive. That makes seven of us left. Six people until I can go home. Which includes Echo. I shake my head violently, mentally slapping myself. I can't let myself get attached. Echo is an opponent. Nothing more. Not my friend, just my ally. My district partner. Not a friend.

As I grab a box full of food, someone tries to tackle. The boy from 1? I push him to the ground, sprinting out of the clearing with six bottles of water and a crate of food. That should last us until the Games end, right?

There are no more cannon shots as Echo and I run away from the scene. Seven of us left. That's a two-in-seven chance that my District will have a win this year. Our last win was the 135th, where that idiot Larken Atkinson won. Echo and I both agreed he's an asshole.

Could I really do it? Do I have what it takes to be the Victor? Honestly, I don't think I do. Echo, maybe, but not with all the stuff surrounding him and his brother.

We cross paths with the girl from 10. She's at one end of a clearing, and we're at the other. It's silent, as we just stare at each other, trying to figure out what to do. Are we going to fight, or just walk away? Personally, I'm voting for just walk away, but maybe 10 is into fighting for pointless reasons?

But she just turns after a moment and scrambles away, running faster than I thought a girl like her could, toting four bottles of water and nothing else. Where is her food coming from? The only mutts I've seen around here have been trying to murder us, so I haven't even considered trying to _eat_ them. Are they edible? Is that what she's eating?

Eventually, we're both too tired to keep running, so we choose a tree at random, making sure to check for tracker jacker nests before we climb up. I end up laying on a branch a few feet below Echo, his hand lazily hanging over. With a grin on my face, I hold his hand.

"Hey, Mace?" Echo asks from above. "You know I'm gay, right?"

I burst out laughing. When I finally regain the ability to breath, think and speak, I say, "Of course I do. My hands are cold. This wind has only been getting colder."

"Oh."

"You thought I was—?" I say incredulously, my eyebrows raised, before busting out laughing again. "It's the Hunger Games, Shallow! And we're twelve. Ew."

"I just thought—um—well…" Echo stammers. I can almost imagine how red his face must be right now. I didn't mean to cause that much embarrassment. Now I feel kind of bad.

"It's okay, Shallow!" I exclaim, laughing good-naturedly. "I was just messing around. We need some fun in our lives, don't we?" I gesture around the arena, even though he probably can't see me very well. "There's not much fun here, is there?"

"Nope," Echo agrees, popping the _p_. "There isn't." He yawns. "Can you take first watch? I'm exhausted."

"You're exhausted?" I repeat. "Who fought in the Feast?"

He laughs. "But seriously, can you take it?"

"Yeah, whatever," I say. I lean back against the tree trunk as Echo mumbles a thank you. I think I was wrong. To hell with getting attached. We're both going to die anyway, whether it's in eighty seconds or eighty years. Who cares if we're friends? I certainly don't, and I'm sure Echo doesn't mind either.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

I was sure I was going to die when I ran into the pair from 7.

I remember their training scores. They're dangerous, at least by my standards. I didn't think they'd just let me go, or not give chase when I ran. Some people would call running cowardly. I call it smart. I mean, I'd rather be called cowardly than dead.

I wish I could find my way back to my little rock shelter, but I'm not sure it's safe. The girl from 5 ran past it yesterday, just as I was about to walk out of it. Imagine if she had caught me! Or, you know, don't. Personally, I don't like to think about my own bloody demise. I'll pass.

After that, I decided to move camp. While that girl seemed pretty unfocused and panicked at the time, she might have seen me and returned, unsure if it was real or not. And now, I'm walking through the forest with nothing but four bottles of water, a very worn out knife, a thing, magenta blanket and the clothes on my back to my name. The biting wind just keep picking up, batting me around as I try to make any progress.

I end up settling on the bank of the lava river, trying to use it to warm up. You'd think that in a volcanic arena, staying warm would be the least of my problems. And while some are worse, like getting back to the Cornucopia to finish my trapping plan or, you know, _living_ , I still need to be able to use my hands in order to fix any of those problems.

Trying to occupy my hands and get the blood flowing, I made a crude punji-stick, a step or two, or maybe even three below what I can usually make, but it will work. Besides, I need food. Now that I have water, enough to last a while if I speed this competition along, food is the next priority. I haven't had much trouble with it. I just use the remains of the last thing I ate as bait, and some sort of rabbit-dog-monkey-cat just waltzes right onto the trap. They don't taste the best (on the contrary actually; I'd rather eat termites) but they're food. I've been pretty well fed, which is certainly more than most of the tributes in here can say.

I almost didn't even go to the Feast. Those things are too dangerous. But I eventually came to the conclusion that I need water, and decided to duck in quick and get a few bottles. And now, I should be okay for the next few days, or at least until I drink all it. After that… well, I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Sighing, I take a sip of the first water bottle, starting to work my sticks into the ground. I hope I'll catch something by tomorrow morning. As if to accentuate my point, my stomach gives a mighty grumble. Only a few more days. Once I get out of here, I'll be fed every day, and it won't just be what's left over from Dad and I's traps. It will be real, fresh food, and I can put this hunger, this thirst, this fear behind me. Everything will be okay. All I have to do it kill six people.

Even the sound of that makes me want to throw up. I've trapped animals before, but I can hardly fathom putting an end to human existence, to a person, a mind, a life, a future. But I suppose that if I want to get out of here, that's what I'll have to do. I just hope I don't have to witness the carnage my traps create.

 **A/N: And now, only seven tributes remain. I'm not really sure how to do the family interviews (any suggestions?) and I'm not sure when they'll be posted. Anyway, any surprising deaths? Who was it that bumped into Liana during the Feast? Who will die next? I think one of the next deaths might be quite surprising.**

 **Eulogies:**

 **9** **th** **Place: Liana: I loved this fiery little artist, but unfortunately, she didn't get much screen time. She and Brandon were a tough little alliance, but once Liana swore vengeance on tributes that she couldn't kill, I wasn't quite sure where to go with her story afterward. And now, here she is, at the end of her tale. Thank you, TheNoobyBoy, for this quiet artist. RIP.**

 **8** **th** **Place: Avia: I don't think anybody liked this girl. I mean, I loved writing her so much, every interaction she was in was so much fun. Still, I knew she couldn't win, as no one liked her, and she didn't have many fighting skills. Thank you, LordShiro, for this manipulative brat who was despised by many. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	29. Family Interviews

**A/N: Here we have the family interviews. I was originally going to make this like seven different chapters, but I decided against it when I realized how short all of them ended up (like seriously, a couple hundred words, each). Anyway, here we go.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 27 – The Family Interviews**

 **Dollar Quinneton, District 1, Brother of Cash and Coin Quinneton**

"Now, I understand that Money Quinneton, Victor of the 145th Hunger Games is your brother?"

"We're not here to talk about Money," I spit out bitterly. "We're here to talk about Cash and Coin."

"Right, right, of course," Alistair McKinley amends. "How do you feel about your siblings' chance at Victory?"

I shrug apathetically. "I could really care less."

"What Dollar means is we're very proud of Cash and Coin," my mother corrects, shooting me a glare. "I've never doubted their abilities once."

"That's not true," I say, ignoring Alistair's attempts to keep asking questions. "When Cash came home saying he was going to volunteer, you tried to change his mind, and when he did, all you did was bitch about it. All you ever talk about is how great Coin is, how much you hope _she_ comes home. Well, you've got two kids in the Games, don't you?"

After my lengthy speech ends, silence rings through the entire house, which is certainly saying something, seeing as we live in the Victors' Village. I look around, my eyes jumping from face to face, daring someone to speak and try to contradict me. I glance at Cash and Coin's gaggle of idiot friends, all congregated in the corner, looking especially apprehensive. And they think I couldn't have won the Hunger Games.

Eventually, Alistair says, "Um, right, um, Mr. Quinneton, have any funny stories to tell us about Cash and Coin?"

"Well, actually, I do…" Father starts to tell some ridiculous story about Cash pushing Coin off the roof of our old house, but I can't be bothered to listen. After all, why should I? It's not like I have any obligation to talk about my likely-dead siblings. Besides, I don't know anything interesting about either of them. All I know is that they're annoying little gremlins, and we'll all be better off once they're gone.

 **Wonder Hammerfort, District 2, Brother of Wake Hammerfort**

I try not to shake as the camera people file into our living room, but I can't help it. While Wake has been gone, it's been getting worse, and I don't know why… I hardly even understand what I did wrong in the first place. When I asked Wake what I did to deserve this, she vehemently told me that I didn't do anything. That he is just a monster who likes to hurt little boys. I wish I could believe her.

I miss Wake a lot more than I'd like the admit. I don't admit things. Ever. I don't talk much, either. I'm too scared to. I'm afraid that if I talk, everything will just come tumbling out, and it will all be so much worse. It will hurt more, he'll do worse, that's what he always says. Wake used to tell me that I've seen too much to be my age, but it's hard to believe that other kids don't have the same problems.

"So, am I correct in assuming that you're Wake Hammerfort's younger brother?" the scary Capitol man who has a name that I can't remember asks, holding a microphone way to close to my mouth—it looks like something I don't want to think about.

I push the microphone away, forcing words to spill from my mouth, "Uhm, y-yes. Wonder. My name. Wonder."

The Capitol man looks at me oddly and decides to focus on _him_.

"How do you feel about your daughter making it to the Final Seven?" the man asks, and he replies,

"Very proud. I'm very proud of Wake's accomplishments." He shakes his head, his eyes locking with mine. I hurriedly look away, willing to do just about anything to get out from under his hardened gaze. I don't want him to look at me. When he looks at me, it's like I'm a meal to him. An exciting little toy for him to play with. I remind myself that everything will get better once Wake gets home. It always does. And this time, it will get better for good. I'll be safe in Wake's arms soon, and he will go away forever. I'll be safe. I just have to be patient.

 **Ant Willodean, District 5, Brother of Wren Willodean**

A crowd of people with cameras swarm into our little living room, and I ask Mommy why.

"They're here to talk about Wren, dear," she replies, clearly distracted by something, I'm not quite sure what. Her eyes dart around the room as the camera people start setting their stuff up, and a man with big eyes and neon green hair shoves a microphone in Corrin's face.

"You're the brother of Wren Willodean, yes?"

"Um, yeah?" Corrin replies with his eyebrows raised. "What else would I be?"

The bright man shakes his head and grumbles a word that Mommy says I'm not allowed to say. Daddy used to say it sometimes, but he's stopped now. Daddy doesn't do much anymore, even more now that Wren hasn't come home. I don't know where she went. She's not supposed to leave like this. Mommy and Daddy get worried when she stays out for so long, and I miss her. She's been gone for so long I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever see her again.

The microphone flips into Mommy's face, and the man says, "How do you like Wren's chances of winning."

"I think volunteering was a foolish action," Mommy says, using a lot of big words I don't quite understand. "but Wren is strong. I think she has a good shot at Victory, as much as any of the tributes remaining have."

The neon man nods, satisfied, before turning to me and thrusting his microphone into my nose. "What is your name?"

"Ant Willodean," I say proudly, trying to straighten my back and grinning. "I'm seven years old. Do you know where Wren is?"

He looks like he's about to answer when Corrin suddenly says, "Hey, Dad, how about you tell them how you got paralyzed?" He casts a furtive glance toward Mommy, and something passes between them, an emotion that I can't name.

Daddy looks up, his face conflicted, before begrudgingly starting to speak. I don't listen though. No one has answered my question yet. Where is Wren?

 **Rosalynn Barker, District 7, Mother of Macy Barker**

"Daniella, Alex, the Capitol people are here!" I call, glancing nervously at the front door, where the camera crew and Alistair McKinley with his microphone are congregated. My eyes search for Macy's best friend, Davis, in all the chaos, finally locating him on the couch, staring forward into the abyss.

Alistair descends upon me, shoving the microphone into my face and asking, "You are Macy's mother, correct? How do you like your daughter's chances of winning?"

I purse my lips for a moment before saying, "Yes, I am Macy's mother. And I think Macy has a very good shot at victory. She's strong and capable, not to mention brave, and just needs to avoid getting attached to that Shallow boy."

"Ah, so you know of Shallow Shamir?" Alistair presses.

"Yes, our families used to live near each other. I do believe Macy and Shallow went to grade school together." I shake my head, thinking of poor Echo Shamir, likely without his twin for the rest of his life.

"Have you seen Shallow Shamir's family since the beginning of the Games?"

"No," I say, although it should have occurred to me to bring them some cookies or something. "I thought we were here to talk about my daughter, not Shallow Shamir."

"Yes, yes," Alistair says impatiently. He hurries away, asking Davis a few questions and eliciting nothing useful from the boy before beginning to pester Alex and Daniella. "Do you think your sister has a good chance of coming home?" he demands.

"I think she does," Daniella says sincerely. "Macy is strong-willed and will certainly go down fighting."

"Agreed," Alex adds, the pair of them finally uniting on a common goal: to bring their younger sister home. I couldn't have been more proud, of any of my children.

 **Shallow Shamir, District 7, Twin Brother of Echo Shamir**

When the Capitol camera crew arrive, I want to start running and never stop. And if I could, I would. Anything to avoid accidentally announcing Echo and my's swap on national television. I want to throw myself under the bed and refuse to come out, whether Echo lives or not.

I can feel it, deep in my heart, that he won't. It's like a piece of my soul has already gone to join him, dead or alive. But I know he won't be coming out of that arena. Personally, I'm rooting for his district partner, Macy. We were friends when we were little, and her being in the Games is just another reason that the world is unfair.

"You are Echo Shamir, yes?" Alistair McKinley says, his microphone too close for comfort. "Twin brother of Shallow Shamir?"

I swallow thickly, nodding slowly, my eyes darting around the room as if looking for some point of escape.

"Is there a reason you didn't volunteer for you brother?" Alistair demands.

I wipe my sweating palms on my pants and shakily exhale. Any words I say could cost Echo his life, which is the exact reason that I won't talk. I simply take a step back, only to come pressed up against the wall. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't live the rest of my life with this weight on my shoulders. There has to be someone I can tell, right? Someone that won't rat Echo out or tell the entirety of Panem. There has to be someone I can trust!

As Alistair grumbles angrily, going to grill my parents instead, my eyes land on Jasbelle, Echo and I's best friend. She looks slightly out of place in our ramshackle living room, perched on our old, ratty couch with a look on her face like she'd rather be anywhere but here. Same, Jas, same.

Nervously, I go over to sit next to her as Dad starts to talk about how much faith he has in 'Shallow's' chances. Mom and Dad are suspicious that we did something, I know they are. They've noticed that I'm different, that _I_ never trained, that it was all Echo, and I shouldn't have any knowledge of weapons. But still, they haven't asked.

I put a hand on Jasbelle's new, prompting her to look up and meet my eyes. Forcing the words to come out of my mouth, I stammer, "M-meet me l-later? I talk—need to talk. I need to t-talk. To you."

She looks at me with an expression halfway between weirded out and concerned. "Okay," she says uncertainly. "Where?"

I lift my hand, pointing toward the front step. I want to talk to her in the forests, where there's no one around to overhear us, no one to hear what I'm going to tell her.

When Alistair comes to ask Jasbelle a million and one questions about 'Shallow', I quickly get up and position myself in between my parents. Everything will be okay. I'll feel so much better once it's off my chest, right? I can't spend the rest of my life with this secret weighing me down. I have to tell someone.

 **Bernadette, District 10, Friend of Lammy Phyronix**

The street is mostly clear aside from the impatient Capitol camera crew. I imagine they have been doing the same thing for days now, and it certainly has to have gotten old by now. After all, Lammy is the farthest outlier left. I just know that she's going to win. I have faith in my friend, and Lammy isn't one to give up. If she's going to fight, she's going to win.

We would have done the interview in Lammy's house, but it's all locked up because her dad had to leave on the trapping trip. Chick and I were looking forward to it, as was Lammy, but we weren't obligated to go while our Dads were. If Lammy hadn't been Reaped, that's where we'd all be right now. But alas, she was, and now we have to reap the consequences.

Chick and I stayed behind to support Lammy. And, we want to be the first to know if she… goes away. We want to be there if it happens, together, to be shoulders to lean on. I still remember when Rooster died. I didn't know him, but there was this man. He looked rich, and when Rooster died, he had the audacity to _laugh_. Not many people were sad to see him go. In most peoples' eyes, this Hunger Games is getting rid of _two_ useless kids. But to us, and Lammy's dad, she's not useless. She's our friend, our family, and we miss her.

"So where is Lammy's father at the moment?" Alistair asks us, his microphone a respectable distance away from our faces.

"He's on a trapping trip," I say with all the confidence I can muster. "We, and Lammy, were supposed to go too, but Chick and I elected to stay behind in support of our best friend." I smile proudly, thinking of how close we are to having Lammy back. Everything will be okay once she comes back.

"Do you think Lammy has a good chance of winning?" Alistair's tone is bored, like he's asked this question so many times it's become meaningless. I don't doubt that it has.

"I think she does," Chick says. "Lammy is smart and resourceful. She knows how to make traps, and has already caught someone in one. Even though it wasn't lethal, she had that girl from 2 rendered useless until she got a sponsor gift." Chick's voice is slightly disgusted. It helps to know that I'm not the only one who is horrified by Wake Hammerfort.

"I second that," I add. "Lammy may not seem like it, but she is one of the strongest people I know. I think she has a very high chance of coming home."

Alistair nods sharply and they begin to pack up their equipment. I breathe a sigh of relief, wondering what is next in store for Lammy.

 **A/N: How were they? Too short? Probably, but I couldn't think of much to do with most of them. Still, I think it was nice to get some more insight into the districts and how they're coping with the loss of twenty-three twelve-year-olds.**

 **If all goes well, I should have Day 8 up later tonight. I've been very motivated today, so we'll see.**

 **-Amanda**


	30. Day 8 - Broken Windpipe, Broken Promise

**A/N: Day 8! I think there's a pretty surprising death in this one, so just… buckle up. As we slowly approach the finale, tensions are high and alliances will break.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 28 – Broken Windpipes and Broken Promises**

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10**

I've taken to carrying my un-used punji sticks in the pockets of my jacket, just in case someone jumps out of the bushes and I need to be able to attack on a moment's notice. It's scary, the fact that I have to carry weapons on me at all times for fear that I might be murdered at any second.

For the past couple of hours since I woke up, I've just been wandering through the seemingly-endless woods, slowly working through a bottle of water. If I drink one bottle per day, and have this over with by day twelve, I'll be fine, right? I've got it all figured out.

Last night, around the time that the fallen came on, I decided to circle around to the Cornucopia so I can finish my plan. I've got almost half of the cornucopia surrounded, which only leaves a fourth of it left to do, seeing as I doubt too many people will be trying to cross the lava river in order to enter the finale. At least, I wouldn't try.

The endless night is really starting to get to me. I miss seeing the sun, feeling its warmth on my skin. It's just another reason that I have to get home. I have to get back to the sun, outside of this arena and safe back in 10. I wonder if I can still go on that trapping trip? I hope Dad waited for me.

As I come up the lava river, I pause for a moment in a little clearing. There appears to be… blood, here, dried on the ground. And beside a tree, I see a weird little woven circle. Gingerly, I pick it up, afraid that this may be a trap. I wait for a moment, completely still, and nothing happens. Breathing a sigh of relief, I inspect the little circle closer.

How did this get here? Who did it belong to? And perhaps the most grisly question of all… who's blood is it that I am currently standing in? Am I at the sight of some early battle, at the very beginning of the Games? Did… did someone die here? Is this where someone met their doom? I inhale sharply, suddenly understanding. There must have been a battle here. Someone _must_ have died here. And this… this… crown must have been someone's token.

I tuck it in my pocket, jostling my spare punji sticks. This was left here. The tokens are supposed to get taken up with the bodies and returned to the family. Why is this one still here? How did it get left behind? But the biggest question, the question that nags at the edges of my consciousness: who did it belong to?

Unless I win, I don't think I'll ever know.

Sighing, I continue on my way, away from the long-lost battlefield where someone met their demise. My hand closes around the woven crown in my pocket, a thousand questions running through my head. A dead person held this once, when their hands were still warm and their mind still ran.

I wonder what this token meant to the tribute that brought it here. Was it a family heirloom? A gift from a loved one? A symbol of good luck? I could certainly use some of that right now.

With steely resolve filling my veins and a desperate wish to find out who this crown belonged to, I continue onward toward the Cornucopia, prepared for whatever the Gamemakers want to throw at me. Someone left this crown behind, and somewhere in Panem, there is a family mourning that someone. Seeing as this token was left behind, they need to get it back. And I'll just have to be the person to get it back to them.

 **Echo Shamir, District 7 Male**

As Macy and I walk through the forest, I hear birds chirping high in the trees. Two weeks ago, I probably would have smiled at that, knowing that those birds were happy and above all, harmless. But now, all I can think about is that they might be mutts, sent to peck out our eyes or skin us alive. I don't know if I'll ever be able to enter a forest again without the thought that there might be mutts lurking in the shadows, just waiting for me to let my guard down so it can attack.

"Do you think either of us has a chance?" Macy asks in a dead whisper, her voice barely breaking the eerie silence of the forest around us. "At victory, I mean?"

I shrug, knowing full well what my own chances are, but still having faith in Macy. "I think we do. We're both strong, and we've made it this far, right? There are only five other tributes left. We make up, like, a quarter of the remaining tributes."

"Yeah, but four of those five are Careers," Macy saying, dragging her heels against the tar. She looks up to the sky. "I miss seeing the sun. I miss all the green in 7. I miss climbing trees for fun, not for life or death. I miss my family. I miss… everything. Even the bad things. Like Alex or Daniella showing me up and getting all the high praise. Or the terrible school lunches that I eat anyway, just because we can't afford anything better. Hell, I miss working day-in-and-day-out in the forests with the hot sun beating down on my back, because at least there's sunlight!" Macy sighs exasperatedly, clenching her fists. She looks up at me, meeting my eyes. "You know?"

I nod. "Yeah." I survey the barren, blackened forest around us. "Anything's better than here."

A gust of wind so strong that it almost knocks me over blows through the forest, practically gnawing at our faces. In a volcanic arena, a cold wind should be the least of our worries. I can't help but wonder what its point is.

"What do you think is up with this wind?" Macy wonders aloud, stealing the words right from my mouth. "It just keeps getting colder and colder and harder and harder… I can't see a point to it."

I shake my head. "It doesn't make sense to me, either. But you know the Gamemakers; we don't know what's going to happen until it does."

"I suppose so," Macy says, a slight nervous lilt to her voice. We walk in silence for a few minutes until Macy says, "Do you ever think about what it's like to die?"

The question is so far left field that I'm stunned into silence for a moment. "Um… well, no, not really. I guess I don't like thinking about the end of my life."

"No, that's not what I mean," Macy replies defensively. "I don't, either, but sometimes you just have to wonder… is there even anything on the other side, or do our consciousnesses just cease to exist? Do we float in a black void until the end of time? Will we ever find out?"

I don't say anything. I don't trust myself to.

"I don't mean to get all existential with you," Macy says quickly. "Death is just… for my whole life thus far, it's seemed like a far off thing. Like it will happen eventually, but it's nowhere near. I've seen people die, heard about the lumberjack horror stories, but I guess… I used to feel above all of that. Like those stories weren't even real, and there was no way something like that could ever happen to me. But now, with death staring me right in the face, I feel like I should be more worried." She looks at me. "Are you worried about it?"

I think for a moment. Finally, I said, "I'm terrified. I don't want to die, but I guess I accept the fact that it has to happen sooner or later." I sigh. "Personally, I'm hoping for later."

Macy laughs. "Man, me too."

And just like, the moment of collective existential crisis passes, and I try to forget we ever even talked about it. But the thoughts stick with me long after.

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

It's late at night when I am awoken by the sound of… spluttering? Choking? Crying? I bolt upright, looking around in the dim light. I hear a cannon boom in the distance, and I am on my feet in a second, my head whipping around, trying to figure out who died.

That's when I see it. Or, see _her_.

The silhouette of Wake Hammerfort, kneeling over Wren Willodean, about to slit her throat. But wait, that doesn't make any sense. If Wake is about to… and she's over there…

My world tips dangerously when I see Cash splayed out on the ground, his throat cut open wide like a second, bloody grin in the darkness. A thousand emotions clog my head as I realize what's going on. Wake has killed my brother, and is about to kill my only other remaining ally.

All other thoughts are banished from my head as I launch myself at Wake, moments before she brought her knife down on Wren's throat. I push her up against the Cornucopia as Wren wakes up, startled by the sudden flurry of action. My hands lock around Wake's throat, her guttural screams doing nothing to deter me from my end goal: revenge.

"You—killed—my—brother!" I shout, tightening my hands around her neck.

"Coin—stop—!" Wake wheezes, her air supply almost completely cut off by my hands. It's satisfying. It feels so, so good. "Brother—back—2—help him—!" Wake continues to scream. My grip loosens for less than a second as I take in her words. She knows that she is going to die. She _knows_ that there is no way out. And for odd, terrifying reason, that makes me want to _laugh_.

I keep compressing my hands as Wake screams every curse word in the dictionary, her voice hoarse and animalistic, clawing at her throat and kicking me with all her might. I'll help her brother. But I don't have to. After all, she killed mine. Why should I worry about her family when she is running around murdering mine?

Finally, I constrict my hands to far, and an audible _pop_ sounds through the clearing. As her cannon fires, I drop the body of Wake Hammerfort to the ground, stumbling backward, unable to comprehend cognitive thought. What have I done? _What have I done?_ I start wildly looking around for Wren, finding her half-hidden inside the Cornucopia, holding a knife in front of her like she's afraid I'll attack her next.

Panting and trembling from head to toe as the adrenaline slowly leaks from my veins, I sink to my knees, grabbing fistfuls of my hair, trying to convince myself that Cash isn't dead. Cash isn't dead. Cash. Is. Not. Dead. He can't be. It was supposed to be us, forever. We are—were—twins. We were more connected than anyone else in the world! I can't outlive him… I just can't… this can't be happening…

Wren tentatively puts her hand on my shoulder as I sob, tears streaming down my cheeks like a hot torrent of water. It feels unreal. I'm dreaming. Yes, I must be dreaming. That's it.

"It's okay," Wren says, soothingly stroking my head. "It's going to be okay."

"How?" I sob. "How is it going to be okay, Wren? Cash is—Cash is—Cash is gone. It feels like a piece of my soul has been ripped out and died with him. How is it possible to be this broken?"

"I don't know," Wren says honestly, sitting down beside me. "But we're all broken in some way or another. We can broken together."

I smile weakly. "We're the Broken Buddies."

As I survey the scene, the meager remaining supplies, most of which are left over from the Feast, Cash's and Avia's and Liana's and who knows who else's blood splattered everywhere, I decide I've seen enough blood for a lifetime. I'm done with it. I'm done killing. I'm done with the Hunger Games.

I always knew Cash or I had to die for the other to come home, but it never seemed real until now. It seemed like a silly, childish thing to believe, that one of us had to die. Now, it's real, and it hurts. It hurts worse than any injury I've ever had, even that time when Cash pushed me off the roof of our old house and I broke both of my legs when we were nine. It hurts so, so much worse than that. It feels like my very soul has been ripped in half, shredded into so many pieces I can't even hope to stitch it back together. I'll never be okay again, not as long as I live.

But as I glance at Wren, I realize that no one is okay. Not really. We're all broken, in some way, or another.

 **A/N: I hope Wake's death came as a surprise. That was what I was going for. I've had this chapter planned since around January, and I'm so excited to finally have gotten to write it! Was Cash's death a surprise? Was Wake's? Who will win now? Who will die next?**

 **I have a five day weekend starting. I could see myself crowning a Victor by next Tuesday. How does that sound, huh?**

 **Eulogies:**

 **7** **th** **Place: Cash: I'll be honest, I never really connected with Cash. He was an interesting tribute, but he almost works better dead, as it provides more character development and a longer arc for Coin. Anyway, this guy was an arrogant jerk, that no one really liked (like, at all). Thanks to AnnaBanana for a tribute I'm not very sad to see go. RIP.**

 **6** **th** **Place: Wake: I don't get why so many people liked Wake. She was a sarcastic, murderous, bloodthirsty Career whose really only redeeming quality was Wonder. I have never truly enjoyed writing Wake (even though she provided some good antics) but I will be sad to see her go. Thanks to 20 for this bloodthirsty tribute. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	31. Day 9 - Silence

**A/N: Please remember: this is my story, please don't try to run it for me. I don't mean to offend anyone by saying this, but the story is mine to write, so please let me make the decisions, and don't cuss me out when your favorite character dies.**

 **Also, I had this weird dream about the finale last night which involved kids from my school and the tributes who are actually in it fighting over jewelry and it being like a colosseum type thing? I think someone asked me why I never mentioned Frank Zhang from Heroes of Olympus too, which was very weird. And at some point, I think Coin and Lammy dismantled the Cornucopia?**

 **Anywho, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 29 - Silence**

 **Wren Willodean, District 5 Female**

I don't know how long Coin and I sit here. We cleared out a while ago so we didn't have to stare at the bodies of our former allies, but all we did afterward was just come back and sit in the same place. For the first time I've been the arena, the silence isn't eerie or ominous. It's almost soothing, like nothing bad can happen now. After all, all the truly hostile tributes are gone. No one is going to jump out of the bushes and stab us. Those people are de…gone. I feel the safest I've ever felt while in the arena right now, just Coin by my side and the knowledge that I'm so, so close to home. I'll be back to Ant and Corrin and District 5 before I even know it.

I sigh. "Hey, Coin, are you hungry?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess I could eat."

I climb to my feet, happy to have something to occupy my hands and my head. "It doesn't feel like it's been nine days, does it?" I say as I fish through one of the crates from the Feast. I produce two boxes of crackers and return to Coin.

"It doesn't," she agrees, taking one of the boxes. She looks up at me. "It doesn't feel real. All of this." She gestures to the arena around us halfheartedly. "It feels like Cash is just out hunting or something, and he'll be back any minute, ready to continue being a jerk." She shakes her head. "I just don't know what had gotten into him! On the train, Money straight up insulted him, and that's when he changed. It wasn't like him. Cash was always bothered about his inability to kill, but the way he acted since we volunteered… I just don't know. And the worst part is, I don't think I ever will."

I sit down, pulling my knees to my chest and putting a cracker in my mouth. I chew and swallow as Coin says,

"I always knew it had to happen, one way or another. One of us had to die. But it never seemed real, you know? Like a far off dream, a slim possibility." She sighs, blinking back tears. "I don't think I'll ever be the same, and I'm starting to question whether I even want to get out of here anymore. Maybe it's right that I die where Cash did." She chokes back a sob, her voice taking on a slightly hysterical edge. "I just… I just can't believe he's gone. Like, really, truly gone." She looks at me. "Have you ever lost someone like this, Wren?"

I think for a moment. All my grandparents aside from my dad's mother were dead before I was born, and I was only four when Grandma died. I don't have any dead friends, unless you count the tributes from the Games, which I don't. "No," I say eventually. "I haven't."

"Oh." Coin looks out toward the west, toward the forest that all the other tributes are hiding in. "How did we manage this?" She laughs weakly. "being the last two Careers alive."

"I'm not even a Career!" I exclaim. "I just get into a lot of fistfights!"

"Fistfights?" Coin repeats, incredulous and giggling. "You get into _fistfights_?"

"Oh, yeah," I say confidently. "All the time. My parents keep telling me to stop, but I've never been one to listen to what other people say."

"Man, I wish I could be like that," Coin says wistfully. "Cash used to tell me I needed to loosen up, have more fun in my life, when really, it was him that refused to have fun. Did you know he started training two years before I did?"

"When did you start training?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"When I was seven," Coin replies. "We were five when Cash started. He was really into it, but the trainers tried to turn him away more than once. Said he didn't have what it takes." She looks at the sleeping bag where Cash had died, still stained with his blood. "I guess they were right."

The silence once more stretches between us, the biting wind blowing through our clearing and whistling through my ears. I glance around at the Cornucopia, thinking of all the death that has taken place here, all the supplies we went through, and the feet that once graced this ground that will now never walk again. There's so, so much blood, everywhere. There's the blood of the girl from 3, my district partner, the boy from 10, Cash, the boy from 8, the girl from 8, the girl from 12, the boy from 2 who's name I never even heard. So much death has taken place here.

Suddenly the silence seems to loud, and I hurry to fill it with pointless chatter. Anything to fill the empty void in Panem that nineteen people used to occupy.

 **Macy Barker, District 7 Female**

"Hey, um, Macy?" Echo's voice startles me, and I turn around to face him. We've been making our way to the Cornucopia, preparing for the finale, and walking in silence. We've run out of topics, whether existential or idle, to talk about.

"Yeah?" I say, looking him up and down.

"I've been thinking… since we're down to the final five… and everything… that maybe… maybe we should split up." Echo's face contorts as he shuts his eyes. "I don't want to be responsible for your death, Macy. And I don't even think I could, if it came down to the two of us. So I think we should go our separate ways, now."

I gape at him. "What?" I cry. "What are you talking about? You want to _split up_? Do you have a death wish?"

Echo's face flushes and he looks at his shoulder for a moment. "No. No. I just… don't think I'll live."

Suddenly it dawns on me. Echo thinks the Capitol knows his secret. Everything clicks into place. All the mutts and the tracker jackers… it was the Gamemakers deliberate doing, trying to dispose of Echo. Why didn't I see it before? And now, because of it, Echo wants to split up. He thinks the Capitol won't let him win. He's not even going to try. I mean, what are the Gamemakers going to do if he wins? Execute the Victor of a Quarter Quell? That's not going to look good.

"We can't split up now, Shallow," I say. "not after everything we've been through. And we're the only other alliance beside the remaining Careers. If we split, we'll be giving them the upper hand. Is that really what you want?"

"…no," Echo admits. "but you have to understand what I'm saying, Macy. We're strong, maybe even stronger than Coin and Wren, but…"

"But what?" I demand. "You said we're stronger than Coin and Wren. Not alone, we're not. Only together can we really take them down."

"I don't care!" Echo shouts. "I'm sorry, Macy. I can't do this. I can't keep this alliance together anymore."

"Well, then try harder!" I yell. "I'm not ready to give up, and you shouldn't be either. This isn't like it is back home, Shallow. This is life and death. Do you really want to die?"

"Of course I don't!" Echo shouts angrily. "I'm trying to be rational, Macy. I'm trying to keep you alive."

"And the best way to do that is to abandon me when we need to stick together more than ever, huh?" I say. "Shallow, there's only a few days left. We have to stick together. Until the end, right? I thought we had agreed on that."

"Times change," Echo says stiffly. "People change."

"You can't leave me," I say, practically begging. "Please, Shallow, we can't be enemies."

"And we aren't," Echo replies. "I'm sorry, Macy. But I—"

"If you were really sorry, you wouldn't be deserting me," I say accusingly. "But I get it; we're in the Hunger Games. You might as well kill me now."

For the record, Echo is appalled. The amount of satisfaction that is gives me is scary. I shouldn't be happy. I should feel terrible. Why don't I feel terrible?

"Goodbye, Macy." He turns around, hurrying into the depths of the forest, but I run to catch up with him.

I grab the hood of his jacket, pulling him backward. He yelps in surprise, and I whisper in his ear, "Do you want me to rat you out? Because I'll do it."

"You wouldn't dare," Echo says in an equally low voice.

He's right. I won't. Maybe if I were a different person, I would have. But that doesn't mean I can't threaten to. "Watch me." I turn on my heel, shoving Echo over and returning to our abandoned supplies. If he's going to desert me, he can deal with his own problems. I didn't make the decisions, but I say the water and food is _mine_.

I keep walking, never looking back once. But only once I reach the little lava tributary, so far from my end goal, do I sink to my knees, wondering what I've just done. Everything was fine between Echo and I. He said he wouldn't kill me if it came down to the two of us, but will he? For my sake and for his, I hope I never find out.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

I couldn't sleep last night.

I tried, I really did. I found a tightly knit grove of trees that mostly blocked out the wind to hide in, but I never fell asleep. I had my little magenta blanket over my head, trying to ignore the images dancing in my head of that bloody little battlefield, of all the children who died in this arena that will never return home.

And so I think it's safe to assume that the traps I make today won't be up the caliber they usually are. No matter how much I want to lay down for a nap, I know I have to work fast and efficiently. If someone else dies today, that would make the finale tomorrow, and I don't know if I'll be finished by then. I just have to hurry.

My dull knife scrapes across the blackened wood, my calloused hands screaming for a break, my whole body begging for sleep, but I know that even I try, I won't be able to. No matter how hard I try, I just can't.

I shiver against the biting wind as it blows against my face, turning it pink and making it sting. This whole arena is confusing. Volcanoes and freezing wind aren't two things I would normally group together. My shaking hands continue to whittle down the branch until it's sharp enough to kill, and I work to drill it into the ground, adding one more weapon to my punji-stick blockade. I shift the crunchy black leaves that always seem to be under my feet over the sticks, trying to cover them with freezing hands. I really wish I had some gloves. I look up to the sky, wondering if the Gamemakers can read my mind, hoping for something to come dropping from the sky and into my hands.

To my astonishment, I see a small parachute making its way to the ground. I snatch it from the air, ripping the lid off and taking out of pair of black gloves. Sighing with relief, I pull them off, feeling the immediate warmth radiating off of them and onto my hands. I decide to keep the parachute, using it like a scarf and keeping my hood from blowing off. Finally feeling a little bit warmer, I tear another branch off the tree above me, starting the process to turn it into a punji-stick, a weapon, a way to kill someone. I shudder, and it's not because I'm cold.

The evening passes slowly. I'm so, so close to finishing. As I start on another stick, I start mentally planning how and where I'm going to move during the finale. Surely it will start with the eruption of the volcano, pushing us all to the Cornucopia, but Wren and Coin will already be there. I'll have to bait them to come over the blockade, and they'll fall onto them and… well, you know what will happen after they fall. It starts with a _d_ and ends with an _ead_.

Eventually, I decide it's as good as I'm going to get it. I've been working all day, and it can't hurt to try and sleep again, can it? If the finale starts anytime soon, I'm going to need sleep. Hopefully by morning, everything will be okay. I'll have plenty of energy and be able to polish my ring of sticks, and then the Games will end. I'll be back in 10 before I know it.

As I make my way back to the little tree grove, I put my gloved hands into my pockets. Amidst all the spare sticks sits the strange woven crown, the token of a dead person. I promised that person yesterday that I would return it to their family, one way or another. I intend to keep that promise.

I curl up with my little blanket and my parachute and my new gloves, shutting my eyes and hoping I can get to sleep.

My mind wanders to the fallen yesterday. I find myself wondering how the girl from 2 died. I can't say I'm not happy that she's gone, but still… she's dead. Not 'gone'. Dead. As in, forever. It's such a foreign concept, all these children that have died in the past nine days. What were their final thoughts? Their family? Their friends? Their district? Were they scared? I know I'm not the only one in this arena, dead or alive, that is afraid to die. There are so many things I want to do with my life. I want to get married. I want to have children. I want to have a life that spans past twelve years old. I want to _live_.

But so do all the other tributes. They all have lives to live. Futures they want to have. People they want to meet. Things they want to do. None of them want to die, either. It's hard to imagine that anyone would have a good reason to want to stop living, to just… fly away. Float in the darkness until the end of time. Why would anyone want to die? It's unfathomable to me.

Finally, I fall asleep to thoughts of the cookies my mother used to make, before she died.

 **A/N: The first chapter with no deaths in it! I felt like it was long overdue, and I hope this wasn't too boring. The finale is so close now, and Lammy is almost done with her plan. Who will die next? What will come of Echo and Macy, now that they have split?**

 **-Amanda**


	32. Day 10 - Rose-Colored Glasses

**A/N: Day 11 will be the finale, meaning there is more death in this chapter! …yay.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 30 – Rose Colored Glasses**

 **Echo Shamir, District 7 Male**

I'm such an idiot.

Why did I split up with Macy? Why did I do this to myself? The thirst is gnawing at my throat, making me disorientated and dizzy. There's got to be a way I can get some, right? Will Wren and Coin kill me if I walk up begging for water? Will Macy do me the courtesy of giving me a bottle, even if this is all my fault? What about Lammy? Maybe she'd give me some?

I stumble blindly through the forest around the Cornucopia, simply trying to stay on my feet. It shouldn't be this bad. It's only been twenty-four hours since I last drank. Well… more like twenty-eight, since we were trying to conserve it so we were drinking it slowly and… god, I'm so stupid.

Eventually, I just end up flopping on the ground, thinking I'll have better luck if I take a nap first. This is probably the Gamemakers doing, right? They somehow pulled all the water from my body and are trying to make me die of dehydration… is that even possible? Well, the Gamemakers seem to make anything happen. They control the arena. The only thing they don't control is the tributes.

My eyelids slip closed for an… amount of time. I'm not really sure how long I was asleep for. It could have been hours or minutes. But the thing that rouses me is a gentle kick to my shoulder and voice nervously saying, "Um… are you okay?"

With some difficulty, I manage to sit up, staring into the eyes of my savior. It's certainly not who I expected. "Uh, yeah, just…" a wave of nausea comes over me. "just thirsty."

"Oh," Lammy says, her feet digging into the dirt. "Do you… do you want some water?"

I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around her shoulders and screaming, "YES!" Instead, I just shrug and say, "Uh, yeah, sure. If you're… you're okay with that…"

"I've got more than enough, really," she promises, taking a full bottle out of her blanket-knapsack thing. "If the Games go like I think they will, everything should be over by tomorrow, so I don't really think I'll need this—" She quickly presses the bottle into my hand, looking around nervously. "Um, I've got to… got to go. Sorry."

She hurries away, glancing over her shoulder like she's afraid an ax murderer is suddenly going to jump out of the bushes. "Thank you!" I yell, hoping that she knows that I mean it. She could have left me here to die. But she didn't. And for that, I'm grateful. Is there anyone in this arena that I'm going to be able to kill by the time the finale rolls around?

Shrugging, I take a swig of the water, feeling it slowly quench my thirst. I look around, wondering where I am. In all my staggering, I sort of got off track of my end goal of the Cornucopia, and now I have no clue where I ended up. Still, I get to my feet, and decide I'll just… walk this way. That's as good of a direction as any, right?

Still slightly light-headed, I make my way through the forest, hoping I'm walking in the right direction. Eventually, the forest will end or the volcano will come into view, right? That will let me know where I am in relation to the other tributes. At least, in relation to Wren and Coin.

As I walk, my mind wanders to Macy. There are a million things I'd say to her if I ever see her again. Will I see her face in the sky tonight? And if it isn't, and we fight in the finale, will she kill me?...will I kill her? I don't think I could. Not now. Not after everything.

Everything is just falling apart. Lammy may have saved my life, but that is a small comfort. I take another drink of water, sighing. It won't matter by tomorrow. The longer I can postpone it, the longer I can live. I may very well die tomorrow. I need to make every second count. For all I know, someone could jump out of bushes right now and stab me. It really wouldn't be surprising, considering all the crap I've been through in the past week.

A gust of wind blows me backward. I stumble, still weak with thirst, almost toppling over. Another stronger gust blows me back even further, and I pull my hood up over my head. The wind keeps shoving me back until I run into a tree trunk. The Gamemakers are trying to tell me something. Are they trying to re-route me to the Cornucopia? Is the… is the finale about to happen, or something? They obviously want me there—if I'm not, when it starts, what's the point of even fighting, if there's still someone else wandering aimlessly through the woods?

I lean around the tree trunk, almost knocked over by the heavy wind. "Okay, okay, I get it!" I exclaim. "I'm supposed to go this way! I get it!" The wind recedes slightly, but keeps propelling me forward, as if the Gamemakers are afraid I'll suddenly get cold feet and try to turn around. Even I'm not that _ready_ to give up. I don't want to die before I have to, thank you very much. I'd like to live to see tomorrow—or, you know, five minutes from now.

The wind keeps pushing me forward, toward the presumed end goal of the Cornucopia, and all the other tributes who will end my life. It's strange. I'm not afraid of dying—not really. I'm just not ready yet. Will I be in a day's time? No, probably not, but tributes can't be choosers. We have die, at some point or another.

 **Wren Willodean, District 5 Female**

"We should do something," I suggest, although Coin seems less than motivated to move. "The Capitol will get bored if we just sit here."

Coin shrugs. "I guess we can do something." She looks up at me. "Any ideas?"

"We could… go hunting?" I offer uncertainly, looking around at our meager supplies. "we haven't done that yet. Should we do that?"

"It's as good of an idea as any," Coin agrees, getting to her feet. "Which way should we go?"

"I don't know," I say, surveying the forest around us. "We could go toward the volcano, but I'm not so sure that that is a good idea…"

Coin seems to understand what I'm saying. The volcano will surely erupt soon. It's a bad idea to be anywhere near it when it does. All that will happen will be like Brookley, except on a larger and more devasting scale…

"Let's go that way, then," Coin says, pointing to the west. "That's where the pair from 7 and the girl from 10 ran off to after the Feast. Maybe we'll find them." She certainly doesn't sound too excited about it. I get the feeling we're going to do a lot more wandering and a lot less hunting. I'm not exactly complaining, though. The less killing we have to do, the better.

Coin grabs the last ax left in the Cornucopia, and I decide to take a dagger, just in case. None of the tributes left are overly aggressive, but I don't doubt that a fight will happen if we run into anyone, even the girl from 10. We're all desperate to go home now, and we're all so close. Anyone we can get out of the way makes us so, so much closer to home.

"How much longer do you think we're going to be in here for?" Coin asks lazily, ambling through the trees at a leisurely pace. You'd think we were just out for a walk in the woods, not on a mission of murder.

I shrug. "I dunno. Hopefully not much longer." I match Coin's pace, trying not to walk faster than her. "Who do you think will—" I scream as the ground disappears from underneath me. The next thing I know, my entire body feels like it's on fire, I can feel puncture wounds everywhere—what is going on? What did I step on?

Oh no. Oh, god, no.

The girl from 10. Wake's foot… those stupid traps…

"Wren!" Coin yells above me, but her voice is very distant, like she's trying to talk to me from the other end of a tunnel. Black spots are dancing in my vision. I can feel my consciousness slipping… why did I do this…? Why did I choose for this… this… this torture. I can hear someone screaming. Is it me? It's probably me. It hurts, it hurts _so bad_. My body feels numb, everything feels numb, why can't I breathe? Why can't I feel my feet, my arms, my legs, my torso?! Why can't I feel anything?

"Wren, come on, stay with me!" Whose voice is that? Should I recognize it? I feel like I should recognize it.

Through the haze of my screams of utter agony and the pain that courses like fire through my veins, I realize that I volunteered for this. I don't have to be here, dying on a punji stick trap, screaming in agony. I could be back home, with Ant and Corrin and Mom and Dad, watching someone else meet the same fate. I'm so… so stupid… I can't believe I did this… by choice…

My eyelids slip closed, and I see nothing more.

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

"WREN!" I scream, my voice so loud and desperate that it almost drowns out the cannon shot. "WREN!" I collapse on the ground, knowing that it's futile, knowing that she's gone, that I've lost everyone…

A sob bubbles out of my throat as hot tears pour down my cheeks. It's my fault, isn't it? Wren and Cash… I didn't protect them. I should have protected them. Why didn't I protect them? I could have… I could have saved them. Wren had a family back in 5, didn't she? A reason to volunteer besides being told to, like me and Cash and Wake and Myrian… she was here to be noble. To help someone. That was her reason. And now she's… and now she's… and now she's dead. We're the Broken Buddies no more. Now I'm just broken.

"Wren…" I mumble, like if I say her name enough times, she will magically be resurrected. "why…?" She wasn't even supposed to be here. She could have been at home, perfectly safe, alive and well, but… well… now, she can't.

Why can't I have a good reason to volunteer, like Wren? Why did I throw myself into this hellhole? Oh, that's right, there was no reason. Someone told me to put my hand in the air and yell, "I volunteer!" and I did it, no questions asked. Why are the Hunger Games so romanticized? It's child murder, and I've been looking at it through rose-colored glasses. I've been pretending that this people, these children, don't actually die. Maybe they're safe at home, or living in the Capitol, but definitely not dead. I've been telling myself that everything is fine, that everyone is fine, but it's not true.

They're all dead. Gone. Forever.

Cash. Wren. Wake. Rooster. Myrian. Brookley. Ariella. All the other tributes that I don't even know the names of, they're dead. Because of the Hunger Games. Because of the Capitol. Because they threw us into an arena with little food and water and a surplus of weapons, and told us to kill each other. And we listened. We killed each other, and we're continuing to do it, even now, as I can see Wren's bloodied and dismembered corpse, made this way by another tribute, all of us vying to go home, to survive.

I should have never volunteered. Wren should have never volunteered. Cash should have never volunteered. Neither should Wake or Myrian or Brookley or Axel—all of them are dead because of it. Well, it's high time that someone who volunteered, who willingly subjected themself to physical and mental torture, gets out of this arena. And that person will be me. After all, I'm the only remaining option.

With renewed energy and resolve, I get to my feet, heading back to the Cornucopia, not looking back once. I can't afford to. If I do, if I look back to Wren, my friend, my _dead_ friend, I don't know if I'll ever be able to leave again. This is the way it has to be.

Only once I break through the trees do I realize that something is off. Then I spot the girl from 10, sitting on top of the Cornucopia. She sees me, too, and starts to sift around in her pockets with her eyes wide.

I stalk forward, my grip on my ax tight. 10 scooches backward, away from the edge of the Cornucopia. It's just one more death. One death closer to home, right? Closer to my goal. I can do this. I can kill someone else, right? I killed the girl from 8—surely I can do this, right?

As I move closer, slowly prowling through the remaining water and food crates, I notice that her face is stained with tears, and she appears to be shaking. Oh. That was her trap that killed Wren, wasn't it?

She gets to her feet, brandishing a couple of sharpened sticks—the same kind that punctured Wren in so many places that she died—and suddenly anger engulfs my body, the same way it did when Wake killed Cash. She killed Wren. She killed my friend. She should die, shouldn't she? She should.

I seize a package of knives and start to lob them toward the girl from 10—Wren's killer.

However, 10 dodges them well, scrambling backward and down the Cornucopia, sprinting off into the woods, toward the volcano. I can beat in her a race, can't I? She's bigger than I am. Slower. I snatch up my ax and make chase, following her strange zig-zag pattern as she runs. Suddenly, she gracefully leaps over a large line of leaves. The punji-stick traps. Can I jump over that? I don't want to risk it. I don't want to… I don't want to end up like Wren.

I skid to a stop, sending the leaves flying every which way. "Come back, you coward!" I shout at 10's receding back. "Come back and fight me!" But she doesn't listen. She just keeps running, occasionally throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure I'm not following.

She may have won this battle, but when the finale starts tomorrow, she can bet I won't be so lenient. She's put a target on her back, and I intend to shoot it.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

The first thing I do when I find my little rock shelter is throw up.

The second is sob.

The third is contemplate going back to Coin and begging for her to kill me.

It's only fair, right? I killed the girl from 5. I remember hearing her screams, her shouts, her cannon. I remember the desperate yells of Coin after the fact, as she screamed for her friend, for her only remaining ally. It's all my fault. It's. All. My. Fault. I set that trap. I covered it up. I killed Wren Willodean, and now I have to live with the guilt.

When I saw Coin and Wren leaving to go hunt, I realized this was my chance to take the Cornucopia. There was a chance that I could get Coin and Wren in one fell swoop, right? And even if I didn't, they would be trapped. They wouldn't know where the traps stopped and started. I even took the extra care to put fake leaf piles over nothing, just to throw the others off. But I never even thought about the possibility that only one of them would fall and—die. I never thought someone would die from it. Maybe get immobilized, and then someone else would come by and to the dirty work for me. Of course, no such luck. Wren was stabbed in so many… I can't even imagine how painful that must be.

I decided to sit on top of the Cornucopia, because it would be harder for them to reach me from up there. I never thought Coin would attack like she did. Then again, it's deserved, isn't it? I killed Wren. I deserve everything I got.

And then I started to run. I still don't know how I ever found my old boulder shelter, on the volcano, but all I know is that I need to clear out quickly. The volcano will erupt tomorrow morning, I'm sure, now that we're down to the Final Four. I don't want to be anywhere near it when it does.

I sigh, leaning back against the wall, trying to dry my tears. I can still win this. It's just one step closer to home. Yes, I have to think like that. The other tributes can't be people to me. I'll never be able to kill them if I view them as people. They can't be people. They have to be… they have to be tributes. That's all they can be.

Leaning back against the rocks, I touch the woven crown in my pocket. Remember your motivation, Lammy. Somewhere out in Panem, there is a family mourning, and they don't even have the token of their child. All across Panem, twenty families have lost one of their children, and another three will join their ranks by this time tomorrow. It's sickening, really. We're all just twelve. We shouldn't be fighting to the death, forced to kill each other for the entertainment of the Capitol.

Tears well in my eyes once more, but I quickly wipe them away. I have to be strong. Tomorrow is the finale. In twenty-four hours, I'll be out of this arena, dead or alive. Preferably the latter.

I crawl out of the rock structure and start walking back down the volcano, waving goodbye to my old shelter. With any luck, the next time I see it, I'll be sitting on the Victors' throne, watching the recap of the massive child murder. I can't imagine how horrible it will be. Seeing all these deaths, finding out how everyone met their bitter end… it seems like too much to bear. I suppose I'm starting to understand why so many of the Victors break down into tears or start screaming when they watch the recap.

I make my way through the forest and back toward my punji-stick blockade. I slowly go around it, making sure to stay hidden and quiet, in case Coin is awake and prepared to strike, until I reach the other side, where I was before all of this happened.

The fallen comes on, the anthem echoing throughout the arena as the Panem seal is projected in the sky. When Wren's face appears, I fight back a sob, trying to convince myself that it was necessary. _It was either her or me, it was either her or me._

I leap across the punji-line, crouching behind a couple of trees, preparing to stick it out until morning. I need to sleep, but I don't know if I'm safe enough here to be so vulnerable. The pair from 7 could come waltzing right up and slit my throat before I ever even knew it happened. And if I'm going to go out, it's not going to be like that.

Still, I blend in fairly well in the darkness, with my hood covering my hair and my improvised scarf still around my neck. I take out my little blanket, covering my legs and preparing for a long, sleepless night.

I fall asleep quicker than I expect.

 **Macy Barker, District 7 Female**

I'm so stupid.

I was angry. I was angry at Echo, angry at the arena, angry at myself, angry at the Hunger Games, angry at the entirety of Panem! But still, I can't believe I did it. I can't believe I actually deserted him. I feel terrible, like I'm trapped in a house that's on fire, and the walls and ceiling are falling in while a tornado rages outside.

Yeah, that's the right analogy.

A few hours ago, the wind started batting me in the opposite direction, and I just let it carry me wherever it wants me to go. The end is so, so near now, especially with the death of Wren, which I discovered about five minutes ago. When I heard the cannon earlier, I was terrified that it belonged to Echo. I don't want him to die while thinking that I'll murder him in cold blood the next time I see him. Because Echo was right; we can't kill each other. There's no way I can be responsible for his death. Besides, I guess I don't want to be known as the girl who killed her district partner.

The finale will start in a matter of hours. The end is nigh, I suppose. Soon, we will all be out of the arena, either as a Victor or a corpse. I don't know if I want to spend the rest of my life with the Games hanging over my head, but at the same time, I don't want to die. My will to live is larger than my guilt.

I've almost made it to the Cornucopia. I can see the glint of the obsidian tip above the trees, and I know I've almost made it. I'm almost home. Back to the trees, back to the green, to the fresh air, to the sunlight, to Alex and Daniella and Mom and Dad and Davis. I'll be home soon.

I want to say everything will be okay if I go home. But I know it won't. Echo and Shallow… it's clear the Capitol knows what happened. And this kind of thing won't be let off easy. There'll be repercussions. Heads will roll, no matter who the Victor is. And if it's me? That's even worse.

I start to climb a tree, settling on a nice, thick branch for my final night in the arena. One way or another, I will come out of here. All twenty-four of us do, whether we're dead or alive. And I intend to be alive.

 **A/N: I know Macy's POV is pretty short, but I wanted to get everyone one last POV before the finale. With any luck, the Finale will be posted tonight, but it's most likely going to be posted tomorrow morning.**

 **Who else is excited? I know I am.**

 **Eulogies:**

 **5** **th** **Place: Wren: I've always loved this scrappy volunteer. She had such a good reason to volunteer, and came so close to Victory. There was a time when I considered her for my Victor, but other tributes overrode that, (cough cough the actual victor cough cough). Thanks to LordShiro for this tough, strong girl. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	33. Day 11 - Dead or Alive

**A/N: I truly never thought I would get to this point. I thought this story would turn out like so many others on this site and die in the Reaping stage. I'm proud, and a little surprised, to say that didn't happen. So, let's get to the chapter I've been most excited and most terrified to write for months: the finale.**

 **This also the third time I've re-written this, so… third time's the charm? Update: it's the fourth time now.**

 **And please, please don't just scroll to the bottom of the page and see who the Victor is. I know it's tempting, and I'm guilty of doing it myself (*cough, cough* Flames *cough, cough*), but please read the chapter instead of just skipping to the end.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 31 – Dead Or Alive**

 **Coin Quinneton, District 1 Female**

I'm waiting. I've been waiting for hours, ever since I gave up trying to sleep, and nothing has happened. I'm pretty sure I saw something—or someone—moving through the trees a little while ago, but the longer I looked, the less I saw. So I've been sitting here, on the ground with my ax in my lap, waiting for the inevitable. I'm bored out my mind, but it's not like I'm just going to start screaming at the Gamemakers to start the finale and let us fight.

Nothing is stopping us from starting right now! It's just that everyone else are cowards, refusing to fight until absolutely necessary. Well, I'm sick and tired of sitting around at the Cornucopia. I get my feet, slowly walking toward the punji-line. I take extra care to jump over it, heading in the direction of the volcano, which I know that girl from 10 ran toward yesterday. Surely she's still there, right?

I get the feeling that I'm being watched. Not just by the cameras, or my family back in 1, but by another tribute. Stopping, I swivel around, looking at the dimly-lit bushes around me. The arena seems even darker than it usually does today. The Gamemakers must be trying to go for 'mood'.

A low rumble shakes the arena. I look around, my eyes landing on the volcano. Of course. Of course it's going to erupt. What's the point of having a volcano in the arena if it never explodes?

The sky is lit up as the volcano spews lava, pouring down its side and soaring through the air. I wonder if the girl from 10 is still up there. She's not dead, at least, I would have heard the cannon. Gripping my ax tighter, I keep moving toward the lava as it rushes through the arena, knocking trees out of the way. Oh, yes. This is the finale I knew I was going to be a part of.

Suddenly, my back feels like it's on fire. I cry out, whipping around to see the girl from 7, having just put a knife in my back. Anger filling my veins, I launch myself toward her, intent on killing her before this wound causes me to bleed out. And then I'm yanked backward, off 7, and thrown onto the ground. I look up to see the boy from 7, Shallow, panting with exhaustion clear on his face.

The girl from 7 leaps to her feet, taking another knife from her pocket, and I find myself wondering where she got it from. Did she steal it from the Cornucopia, or did she already have it? She seemed rather weaponless at the Feast.

It's a standoff. I stand in between the tributes from 7, like we're playing a very intense, deadly game of monkey-in-the-middle. The blood loss from the stab wound is starting to make me feel light-headed, making me sway on my feet, my vision slightly blurry, and the lava rushes ever closer to our fight, preparing to wash over all of us and leave the girl from 10 as the Victor.

Unable to allow that to happen, I finally make a move, charging toward Shallow with my ax raised. I bring it down on his chest, slashing it open, but a cannon doesn't fire. He weakly tries to crawl away, and I move to finish him, but then the girl from 7 slams her shoulder into my already-injured back, sending me toppling toward the lava. It's so close now that I can feel the heat, the surefire death it brings. As I hit the ground, my silver-tipped braid is singed off, leaving me with short, choppy, blackened hair. But that's a problem for another day. The Capitol can fix hair any day. But what they can't fix is death.

As I make my final stand, with the lava lapping at my heels and my whole world spinning, I attack the girl from 7, swinging my ax wildly toward her head. We dance around, avoiding the lava, turning it into a sick little game. A game of life and death. I manage to slash her left calf, leading her to falter, and I move for the kill. But at the last second, just as my ax is about to hit her head, she takes her knife and stabs it into my right leg. I collapse, tumbling to the ground, screaming in pain, and 7 starts to run. She runs toward Shallow, taking his arm and throwing it over her shoulder, pulling him away from the lava.

I can feel the heat radiating toward me. The knife in my back drives further into my skin, making me cry out. "7!" I shout. "Wake's—brother—help him—!" She looks back for a fraction of a second, emotions conflicting her face, before she shakes her head and keeps running. And then the lava washes over my body, and I know no more.

 **Lammy Phyronix, District 10 Female**

I hear the cannon shot from the top of the Cornucopia, and I know that there are only two people left. Just two people standing in the way of me, and District 10. Of Dad. Of Chick and Bernadette. Of Victory. Of safety.

I grip my excess punji-sticks tighter as voices come closer, becoming understandable. "Come on, Shallow, I'm not leaving you here."

"Let me go, Macy."

"No, I won't."

Oh, so it's the pair from 7. That means Coin is gone… the one who wanted to kill me most, the most hostile and aggressive, is dead. I'm so close now. Home is so close I can taste it. Smell the air. See the sun. As I sit on the Cornucopia, I look up the sky and whisper, "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be home before you know it."

I hear someone start swearing. "Damnit, it's those traps, from Lammy." I perk up at my name, getting to my feet and preparing for a fight. Did they make it past the punji-stick line? Surely they did, if there is no cannon shots and no screaming, like Wren…

I shake my head, trying to clear it, knowing I have to be ready. The pair from 7 come stumbling into the clearing, moving quick as to outrun the lava, and I take a few steps back. They start to scale the Cornucopia, the girl pushing the boy up first, and I can see why.

His chest is absolutely shredded. Blood stains through his already-destroyed shirt and jacket. His eyes are unfocused and pained. His face is devoid of color, and his breathing is labored. Why did Macy weigh herself down with him? It's obvious he's dying, isn't it? He rolls over, moaning, as Macy pulls herself up. She kneels over Shallow for a moment, either ignoring or not noticing my presence. She whispers something to him that I don't hear, and for a moment, I contemplate stabbing her now. I could end it. Shallow will die soon enough, and Macy would be gone…

But before I can make a decision, Macy gets to her feet and faces me. We stare at each other for a few seconds, neither wanting to make the first move. We know that once the fight starts, it doesn't end until one of us dies. And so we stand here, Macy's left leg shaking from the weight being put on it, and she finally decides to go for it. To start it. To end it.

The fight is a blur. Occasionally, I'll hear Shallow moan or groan, and I pick up on the sounds of metal clashing with wood—Macy's knives and my punji sticks? I feel slightly light-headed, so many cuts littering my body that slowly are ebbing away my blood. I _do_ remember stabbing a punji-stick into Macy's leg so hard that the other end peeks out from the bottom of her limb, and the sight of it makes me want to throw up, let alone Macy's screams of utter agony as she hurries to remove the stick.

As I reach for another punji-stick, my hand brushes up against the woven crown. I grip it tightly for a moment, reminding myself why I'm fighting. I'm fighting for my dad, for my friends, for my district, for whoever this crown belonged to. I have to keep fighting. I have to win this. I _have_ to go home.

Macy launches herself at me with renewed vigor, and I fight back. I'm not giving up. Victory is so close. I grunt, pushing a punji-stick toward Macy's neck with the intent to kill. It misses by barely an inch as Macy dodges, thrusting her knife forward, to my chest.

It pierces the skin, and I freeze. I can feel it, I can feel everything. My body shutting down. I tumble toward the metal of the Cornucopia, my eyes wide as blood pours from my chest, trickling down the horn of plenty and mixing into the lava below. I fight to suck in breath, trying to get to my feet. My arms shake with the effort, and all I accomplish is throwing myself back to the ground, jostling the knife in my chest and making my whole body shudder. But I have to get up. I have to kill Macy. I have to win this. I still can, right?

I can still win this. I can't give up. I can't give up. I can't… give… up…

My eyelids slide close, and my consciousness flits away, off to join twenty-one other twelve-year-olds. I can almost smell my mother's cookies now.

 **The Arena**

Macy falls to her knees, shaking and sobbing as she looks at Lammy's lifeless body with tears falling down her cheeks. Finally she tears her eyes away and crawls toward Echo, whispering, "Shallow…"

"Stop… stop calling me that…" Echo chokes out. "my name… my name is Echo… you know that…" He takes a deep, shaky breath and turns his head to look at Macy. "You'll… you'll tell him… right? Shallow. That I'm sorry… and it's not his fault… it's my fault… it's all my fault…" He forces back a sob, feeling the pain in his body hike up to an eleven as his vision wavers. "It's not your fault… either… it's my fault… I should have just volunteered…"

"Tell him yourself," Macy says as firmly as she can. "Tell him. Tell him yourself."

Echo makes a noise that sounds like laughter. "I can't. You know… you know they won't let me…"

"I don't care," Macy says, trying to sit up. "You have to tell him. It has to be _you_ , Echo. It doesn't mean anything coming from me. I would just be passing the message on."

"You know I'm not… not going to live… r…right?" Echo wheezes, his face gray and colorless. "I'm… halfway to… to death's door…" He grins weakly, trying to show Macy that it's alright, that she needs to go home, that he isn't afraid to die. Two days ago, would he have said the same thing? Of course not. But now, faced the truth, with the inevitability of death, it doesn't seem quite as scary. All he has do is look away from Lammy's bloody corpse. "But… but you'll tell him… okay? When you… when you get… get back to 7…" Echo takes a labored breath. He's ready to die now. Why has his body not stopped working? Why is he still alive?

"I don't care!" Macy yells. She grabs a discarded punji stick, aiming for her throat, and just moments before it would have punctured her skin and killed her, Echo snatches it out of her hands and thrusts it into his own head. He doesn't even have time to scream before his cannon fires.

The trumpets blare, all through the arena, as Macy Barker lays atop the Cornucopia, breathing heavily, every movement causing her pain. She just wants to lay there forever, and never have to think again. She doesn't want to think. She doesn't want to be alive. It's all her fault. As the voice of Orion Garnet booms through the arena, announcing her victory, she thinks back to everything she has lost in the span of two weeks.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I PRESENT TO YOU, THE VICTOR OF THE 150TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES, THE SIXTH QUARTER QUELL, MACY BARKER OF DISTRICT 7!"

Macy hardly even hears it. She can't stop thinking about Tesla's body laying lifeless against the tree, Cornell's blood splattered on the ground, Joba's head, separated from his shoulders, all the blood that was split, so unnecessarily… why did there have to be so much blood? She simply lays there, sobbing and mourning for every child who died in these horrific Games that she somehow survived.

And then she spots something, beside Lammy's body, peeking out of her pocket. As the hovercraft descends to retrieve her, Macy lunges for it, tearing the item out of Lammy's jacket as she is lifted into the hovercraft. She recognizes it immediately: Cornell's grain crown. The one Rylina made for him. The one he wanted to give back to her, until he died.

She can't even feel happy as the doctors rush around her, preparing her for surgery or something. She just feels numb. All those lives lost… all those more deserving of Victory… did Lammy have a family to return to? Did Coin have friends that she cared about more than anything? She thinks back to the bloodbath, to the beginning of the child massacre. Was Jaz smart? What will Kiran's siblings do now that he is gone? Does Myrian's family miss him? Just how many people across Panem are mourning?

"Miss Barker, we need to sedate you for surgery," a woman with a kind voice and bright pink hair says. They never called her 'Miss Barker' before. But before, she was a tribute. Now, she is of elevated status. She is a Victor. A Survivor.

Macy just nods slowly, allowing them to stick a needle into her arm and send her off into the realm of sleep. She wishes she could stay there forever.

 **A/N: Well, there you have it. The Victor, Macy Barker of District 7. Was it worth it? Are you satisfied with the Victor? There will probably be around three or four epilogues that follow Macy's Victor life.**

 **I wish everyone could have won, (well, maybe not Joba or Avia) but alas, there can only be one Victor. It was especially hard to kill of these last four. I was really attached to all of them, but Macy was the one I chose. Here are the reasons why:**

 **1\. She has a story to continue after the Games. This was the main reason that Lammy didn't win. I didn't know what to do with her after the arena.**

 **2\. She wasn't going to be executed immediately following the Games. This was Echo's problem. With the Capitol more or less knowing his secret and him confirming it in the finale, he simply couldn't win. Macy, on the other hand, fits into this story but won't be killed because of it. There's no way to confirm that she knew before Echo told her.**

 **3\. She didn't turn into a jerk. This is Coin's problem. After Wren and Cash died, Coin went off the deep end, in a different way than Valentine did. She became meaner, more hostile and dangerous, and I couldn't have her win. Macy changed, but not in a negative way, at least not like Coin.**

 **Eulogies:**

 **4** **th** **Place: Coin: For a very, very long time, I was settled on Coin as the Victor. Eventually, however, the lack of opinion on her changed this. Everyone was just neutral on her. I decided the Victor should be someone that people root for more, and besides, Coin changed in the arena. She wasn't the nice, kind girl she was when she went in. The stress of the keeping the pack together and the trauma of losing her twin brother and new best friend really took a toll on her sanity, and she lost her head. She was hell-bent on revenge, and wanted to show that volunteers could win, but unfortunately, she didn't. Thanks to AnnaBanana for this feisty girl. RIP.**

 **3** **rd** **Place: Lammy: I loved Lammy, and still do. She's one of the tributes I'll most miss writing. She would have been the Victor if not for one drawback: I couldn't think of anything for her to do after the arena. I didn't want to write four epilogues about someone sitting around in their house and thinking existential thoughts. There was enough of that in the arena. Still, Lammy was kind, sweet and shy, but still stubborn enough that she would fight until the end. She was going to win or die trying, and that is exactly what happened. I'll forever miss writing this girl, with all her deep thoughts and worries over killing or being killed. Thanks to CragmiteBlaster for this adorable, sweet little girl who didn't deserve the Games. RIP.**

 **2** **nd** **Place: Echo: See that foreshadowing I did? Echo was a tribute I highly enjoyed writing. I loved his relationship with Macy, and all the things thrown at him because of the swap. At least Macy will never forget him. He was right to swap with Shallow, especially since he missed his opportunity to volunteer, as he had trained and Shallow had not, and if his secret had not been found out, he likely could have been a Victor. But unfortunately, the Capitol picked up almost as fast as Macy did, (but way slower than Macy's mentor, Cypress) and now, poor Echo's tale won't even end at his death. Shallow and Macy will continue to suffer from his swap. Thanks to LordShiro for this valiant guy who just wanted to save his brother's life. RIP.**

 **-Amanda**


	34. Epilogue 1 - Pointless and Ostentatious

**A/N: Here is the first epilogue. I'm thinking that there will probably be one for Macy in the Capitol, two for when she gets back to 7, maybe one for the Victory tour, and then one for, like, twenty years in the future?**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 32 – Pointless and Ostentatious**

 **Macy Barker, Victor of the 150** **th** **Annual Hunger Games**

When I wake up, my head is hazy and dull pain radiates throughout my body. With effort, I open my eyes and turn my head, finding myself in a perfectly-polished Capitol hospital room, complete with a heart monitor and an uncomfortable cot. The only time I've ever been in a hospital was when I fell from that tree when I was eight and broke my arm.

A thin fleece blanket lays over my legs, one of which feels strangely numb. I try to sit up, but it saps my energy so quickly that I fall back against the pillow and drift off.

…

The next time I wake up, I feel considerably less groggy and light-headed. The pain is lessened, just a small ache in my hips and torso. This time, I actually manage to sit up, looking around the hospital room.

Someone seems to phase right through the wall. It takes me a moment to realize that it's my mentor, Cypress. She makes her way across the room and sits on the edge of my bed. "I'm so proud of you, Macy," she says sincerely. Our last Victor in 7 was the 135th Games, which Larken won. Fifteen years ago. Thirty-one tributes who will never come home.

"Thanks," I croak. "How long has it been since I came out?"

"About a week," Cypress says. "Why?"

I think for a moment, wondering if I should say what I'm thinking. "…Shallow," I say shakily.

"Your district partner?" Cypress clarifies. "Or the one back in 7?"

"Both," I reply. "I know that Echo is dead…" I swallow thickly before continuing. "Is Shallow… is Shallow alright?"

"He's been arrested," Cypress says. "He'll be publicly executed." She sighs, running her hand over the blanket. "I'm not sure when."

My face drains of the little color it has regained. "Cypress," I say urgently. "you have to make sure he's still alive when I get back to 7. I need to talk to him. I don't care for how long, I _have_ to talk to him."

Cypress is silent for a moment. She stands up. "I'll see what I can do." She pats my leg. "You should get more sleep."

I nod and roll over, but I don't fall asleep. I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again.

…

A nurse waltzes right through the wall like Cypress did, making me look up from the Capitol propaganda book I have been reading. I can't say I'm complaining. Her hair is powder blue, and her eyes are a bright, unnatural yellow. A moment later, she is joined my Cypress, and I find myself wondering what's going on. "Um… hi?" I say uncertainly.

"Hello, Miss Barker," the nurse says cheerfully. "I'm Pandorina Callaghan, and I'm here to talk to you about your legs."

"My legs?" I repeat, throwing the blankets off of me. My eyes widen and I lean forward, unable to believe what I'm seeing. The entirety of my left leg is gone, replaced with a strange, white prosthetic. "Oh my god! That's not my leg!"

Cypress sets a hand on my other, normal, flesh-and-bone leg. "It had to be amputated after the fight in the finale."

"Oh," I mumble, unable to think of anything else to say.

"But it's a very good prosthetic," Pandorina trills. "Only the best for the Victors, right?"

Cypress grits her teeth. "Right," she says stiffly. She shakes her head and says, "Anyway, Macy, it's time to get ready for your Victory interview."

The words _and the recap_ hang unspoken in the air, making a bubble of nervousness forms in my chest. "Of course." I swing my legs over to the side of the bed, surprised at how well I can feel the prosthetic. I'm no scientist, so I'm not even going to try and figure that one out. I suppose that's why I haven't noticed it. I've been able to feel the blanket on my leg, the mattress against my skin. It would certainly explain a lot.

I'm only slightly unbalanced and shaky as I follow Cypress and Pandorina through the wall and down the hallway. I'm definitely in a Capitol hospital, and I get the feeling there aren't too many other patients here. It's quiet, our footsteps echoing through the halls as we head to an empty room. Inside of said empty room is my stylist, Adelia, holding a black garment bag.

"We'll leave you to get dressed," Pandorina suggests, pulling a reluctant Cypress out of the room with her.

The moment they leave, Adelia engulfs me in a hug, dropping the garment bag to the floor. "Oh, Macy, I can't believe you made it home!" she exclaims. Adelia is fairly new to styling, at least as far I know—she's only in her early twenties, with hair and eyes the color of emeralds. I've heard that was a trend started by a Victor from 1 a couple months back. It scares to me think that that will be my life now. Starting trends and letting the Capitol in on my personal life, year after year after year. A shiver runs down my spine.

Adelia puts me in a dark green dress with a skirt that reaches my knees. It has padding to cover up the weight I lost in the arena. It's all in the aesthetic, isn't it?

…

Cassiopeia, 7's escort, gives me a pep talk before I go out onto the stage. "Just be yourself," she says, and I nearly scoff. Be myself? Well, sure, if you want me to be a crying, broken mess of a person, then sure, I'll be myself. But I digress.

The stage is just as bright as I remember it was, back during the interviews. It seems so long ago. Has it really been just two weeks since I was dressed up with my branch belt, all the other tributes around me alive and well? It can't have been. So much has changed since then. _I've_ changed since then.

Alistair McKinley looks the same—does he ever think about all the dead people he has interviewed? He's from the Capitol. It's doubtful.

He greets me, and I take in the seat in the Victors' throne. It feels like a little bit too much. I get a crown, a house, loads of money—why do I need a throne? To assert my dominance over a bunch of dead people? It seems pointless and ostentatious to me, but then again, what about the Capitol isn't pointless and ostentatious?

Alistair asks me a few questions, if I'm ready to go home, if I'm excited to see my family, how I felt in the arena, all of which I answer in short, quick sentences, just wanting to get to the point where we don't have to talk anymore and he can't bring up Echo.

Thankfully, he doesn't.

As soon as the recap starts, I pull my knees to my chest, not caring if Cassiopeia has a heart attack over it. I feel safe with my knees close to me. It makes me feel protected.

The reapings, chariot rides, and interviews pass by quickly. There's an entire exchange between Alistair and I from the interview, but most of the others get little screen time. It reminds me that they don't matter. The only one who they will really care about is the Victor. Me.

And then, it's the bloodbath. I see the boy from 8 die by Cash's hand, I watch the girl from 2 throw a knife into Kiran's head, see her kill Jaz, see Axel throw himself to the mines, see all the death, death, death. All the blood that was pointlessly spilt. The deaths are shown quickly. There's the fight with Joba, with me cutting off his head and trying to save Tesla. I watch the boy from 10 get thrown into lava, but miraculously survive, only to be killed when Valentine goes crazy a few days later. I see Brandon get thrown into the lava, Brookley and Ariella fight brutally to the death as Wren looks on. It's just an endless parade of death.

Finally, finally, we reach the finale. It means it's almost over. I'll be free to go upstairs and cry my heart out soon. Coin's death, of course, is shown first. I wonder if I am credited with that one. The lava did the deed, really, I just… assisted. And then poor Lammy dies with a knife—my knife—to her chest.

A hush falls over the crowd as the exchange between Echo and I begins. I watch in horror as Echo stabs himself in the neck and his cannon fires, wearing a similar expression to on-screen Macy. The crowd, on the other hand, erupts into applause once the recap finishes, and I am left sitting here with a look of shock and horror on my face.

President Snow comes out, followed by a young girl dressed in all white, holding a crown on a pillow. She presents me with the crown, smiling and showing off her too-white teeth. "Congratulations," Snow says, shaking my hand.

I force a smile as I say, "Thank you, it's an honor." There's one more round of applause, and I am finally free. With my body weak from horror and my leg (or lack thereof) is already in terrible shape, Cypress and Larken appear to help me to the elevator. I'm definitely not excited to see Larken again. Once was enough.

We go upstairs to floor Seven, where I had stayed with Echo before all of this began. I don't bother having dinner or anything at all, I just run into my room with its peeling letters and throw myself onto the bed. I don't want this. I don't want to be here. I never realized how bad being a Victor is. If I can't even survive a week outside of the arena, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life like this?

 **A/N: So I decided to condense the recap/crowning and the interview into one thing, because I want Macy to get back to 7 so the real fun can begin *Laughs maniacally*.**

 **I'm kind of unhappy with this chapter. I feel like it jumps around a lot and isn't written very well, but I suppose it's because the recovery stuff isn't very interesting.**

 **-Amanda**


	35. Epilogue 2 - The Silent One

**A/N: I don't really have anything to say here, so…**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 33 – The Silent One**

 **Macy Barker, District 7, Victor of the 150** **th** **Annual Hunger Games**

"I'm sorry." The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I even realize what I'm saying. "You heard him, right? It's not your fault…" I trail off, looking Shallow in the eyes from across the table. I glance nervously at the camera recording our entire conversation, documenting every word that I say.

"I would have died either way," Shallow whispers, his voice hoarse. "I could have gone into the Games, and Echo would be fine, or we can have this reality, where I get executed _and_ Echo dies."

"You're not going to be executed," I say, trying to convince myself more than him. "It's not like you even did anything!"

"I'm an accomplice, Macy," Shallow interjects. "What else are they going to do with me?"

I don't say anything. I think we both know what else they can do with him. A fate worse than death. An eternal punishment, not only for him, but for me as well. Force us to look at each other every time I go to the Capitol to mentor, to see his face and know that all of this is a product of my mistakes. "Is Jasbelle going to be okay?"

Shallow looks at the camera for a split-second before turning his gaze back to me. "She doesn't even know, Macy," he says, his voice a notch too high. "She never did anything. I never told her."

 _You're over doing it_ , I think, shaking my head. "Oh," I say instead. "I guess she will be, then?"

"Yes," Shallow mumbles, silence stretching between us. "So… what's being a Victor like?"

I think for a moment. "Scary," I decide. "I mean, the house is nice, the neighbors are nice—with one blaring exception—but the rest isn't. At least Daniella and Alex are finally taking a bit of a back seat." I sigh, fiddling with my denim jacket. "How much longer do you think you have?"

"Couple of hours," he replies immediately. "They said as soon as you're done, they're doing it." He bites his lip, probably wondering how much it will hurt. "You've been injured before, right?"

I glance at my prosthetic leg, hidden beneath my pants. "Obviously."

"It hurts a lot, yeah?" Shallow swallows thickly. I nod. "Do you… do you think it will hurt? Will there be a lot of blood?"

I don't want to reply. I don't want to talk about blood or pain ever again. I want to ignore it all, but I know in this moment, Shallow needs reassurance from someone familiar. "You'll probably pass out," I say, cringing when I realize that wasn't soothing at all. "You won't even feel it."

"…but what if I do?" Shallow asks anxiously. Suddenly, the door bangs open and a man in a lab coat enters the room.

"Alright, time's up," he says gruffly. He grabs Shallow's shirt collar and drags him to his feet. Shallow whimpers and I jump out of my chair.

"Wait!" I exclaim. "Please, don't do this. He didn't do anything. It's not his fault."

"Miss Barker, he is an accomplice to an illegal act—"

"I don't care!" I cry. "It's not Shallow's fault that Echo did something stupid! Shallow didn't do anything wrong!"

"Miss Barker, you need to calm down," the man says, pulling Shallow back another few feet. "I don't want to call the Peacekeepers."

"Do it, then!" I shout. "call the Peacekeepers. See if I care." I cross my arms, suddenly feeling like an indignant child, even though I know I will never be a child again, whether mentally or physically. "But I stand by what I said. Shallow didn't do anything wrong. He shouldn't be" My voice cracks. "Executed."

"He's not being executed, Miss Barker," the man says, and I cringe, knowing what he is about to say. "He's being turned into an Avox. Now please, move along and let the doctors do their jobs." He drags Shallow out of the room and slams the door, leaving me to collapse into the metal chair I had before and wonder what exactly I did wrong.

…

"It's all my fault," I say for possibly the seven-hundredth time since I came back from the Justice Building where Shallow as being kept. I can't help but wonder: has it been done yet? Is Shallow unconscious, tongue-less and on his way to the Capitol to serve some random, ditzy politician? I can't even ask myself if I will ever see him again, because of course I will. The Capitol loves to torment their Victors, whether through killing their families or prostituting them. At least I'm safe from that for a while.

"It'll be okay, Mace," Daniella says, soothingly patting my flesh leg. "Everything will work itself out. It always does."

"I wish I could be as optimistic as you are, Dani," I lament, rolling over on the couch. The T.V. blares in the background, playing some mindless Capitol show, and I can hear Mom puttering around in the kitchen, doing who-knows-what-and-who-cares-what. Both Alex and Dad are off in the woods, still being lumberjacks even though we have more money than we know what to do with.

Dad's always been so stressed about being a lumberjack, and now that he's given a chance to stop doing it, he voluntarily continues. We aren't fighting for food anymore. We have more resources than entire towns in some places of 7. It really is sick, isn't it? The Games gives you two things: either money or death.

"Do you ever think I'll stop being so broken, Daniella?" I ask, putting my head in my hands.

"Eventually, I think you'll fix yourself," she replies. "Who knows, maybe you'll find some handsome guy that will solve all your problems." She laughs, playfully poking me in the ribs.

I laugh too. It feels good to laugh. "I don't think that's going to solve my problems. Keep guessing."

"You never know," Daniella teases.

I sit up, fighting off the ensuing head rush and get to my feet.

"Where are you off to?" Daniella asks.

"I'm going to go and cry in the shower," I say decisively with my hands on my hips. "Because we have one of those now. What else is it good for?"

Daniella giggles. "Hygiene?" she suggests.

"Nah," I reply, waving the idea away with my hand. "Why'd you ever want do that?" I cross the living room and mount the stairs, seriously considering doing exactly what I told Daniella, when she says,

"Macy, you do know it's not your fault, right? This whole thing, with the Shamirs."

I freeze, the light moment of banter fading. I reply, "Yes. Of course I do. I didn't… I didn't tell Echo to do… any of this." I move my hand through the air, trying to articulate what I'm saying without actually saying any words.

Daniella nods. "We're here for you, Mace. Me and Alex and Mom and Dad. We want to help you. We want you to be okay."

I smile weakly. "Thanks, Dani. I'm going to go smash some pumpkins now."

"What?"

"I'm a Victor!" I exclaim. "I have to have a special talent, right? I'm trying to decide between pumpkin smashing and watermelon growing. Which do you prefer?"

Daniella nods sagely. "Pumpkin smashing sounds more fun."

"It does," I say. "Wanna help?"

"Why would I say no?"

I race her out to the backyard, laughing raucously the whole way. Will things ever be totally okay? No, probably not, but maybe, there's a way to heal.

 **A/N: Good on you, Macy, trying to get better. But the Capitol has more torture in store for you… the grass is not always greener on the other side of the fence.**

 **Also I hope this chapter doesn't suck because I literally wrote it in the span of fifteen minutes. Please let me know if it does.**

 **-Amanda**


	36. Epilogue 3 - The Van on the Doorstep

**A/N: Wow I am just spamming out chapters right now.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 34 – The Van On the Doorstep**

 **Macy Barker, District 7, Victor of 150** **th** **Annual Hunger Games**

It's been so long since I've just sat in a tree. It's been three months since I came back from the Capitol, from the Games, and I haven't had the courage to get up here yet. The last time I did was before the Reaping. Before the Games. Before Echo. Before Shallow. Before any of this.

But the wind is just chilly, not the biting kind like the arena, the trees are green, not black, and birds that sing won't spontaneously decide to kill me because I've sat here for five minutes too many. It's one of the safest places I've been since before the Games. No one else around, just me and the trees. The squirrels chattering and the birds singing. It's peaceful. There's no threat of other tributes, all trying to murder me.

I cross my ankles, wishing I was up higher than I am. I figured I shouldn't risk it, with my prosthetic leg and all, but I've gotten used to it. Pandorina was right—it is high tech. It's like a slightly weaker, actual leg. It's just made of metal and makes me nervous to wear shorts. It's like having a very large scar across your face, except that scar is your entire leg.

Finally, I sigh and start climbing down from the tree. I can't help but think that the last time I was doing this, I was going to head in the opposite direction, toward our old house and the Reaping that would change my life.

My feet hit the ground with a slight jolt, and I immediately start walking through the forest, the dull sounds of axes beating on wood echoing through my ears.

"Hiya, Macy!" a lumberjack calls. Everyone knows my name. After all, I'm a Victor of the Hunger Games. People like to say hello to us. Well, not Larken so much. People seem to avoid him or ignore him altogether. I can't say I really blame them.

As I trek through the forest, I hear a shout of "TIMBER!" I look up to see a tree about to tip into my path, and I quickly start running to get out of harm's way. I dodge the tree as it comes crashing to the ground, rolling a few inches before a thick branch stops its movement. I exhale, looking at the tree and the gathering lumberjacks. That would have been my future, if it weren't for the Hunger Games. Cutting down tree after tree after tree. It sounds worlds better than my current reality.

I turn around and keep walking, trying to look as cheerful possible. I beam at a couple of passerby, who say hello in return. It seems to help the spirits of our district to see their latest Victor looking happy and content. And besides, it's easier to pretend to be happy than it is to really be happy, at least to me. I remember something I once read in a book that I used to think was absolutely ridiculous, "If they can't see your pain, they won't know it's there". And now, it really resonates with me.

I take a sharp turn and start up the winding path that leads to the Victors' Village. It heads through a forest that still remains relatively untouched, at least at the moment, and the walk is scenic. Still, I can't enjoy the aura very well. It's not like being up in the trees. That part of the woods is familiar to me. I practically spent my entire childhood in those trees. But I'd never seen the Victors' Village before I started living there. These words are strange and foreign, despite the fact that they look exactly the same as all the others.

The first sign I get that something is off is the black van with the Capitol seal on it that is sitting in front of my house. A Peacekeeper is sitting in the drivers seat, and we lock eyes as I pass. He looks away first.

Nervously glancing back at the van, I take out my key and start to unlock the door, only to realize that it's already unlocked. That's normal. Maybe Dad left and just forget to lock it. That's fine. Normal. Not odd.

"I'm home!" I call as I enter the foyer. No one answers. That's odd. I know that Mom and Daniella were here when I left not half an hour ago. Why would everyone have left.

I walk into the living room and nearly jump out of my skin. Sitting in my favorite armchair is none other than President Etta Snow. She smiles wickedly and says, "Miss Barker, I've been waiting. Please have a seat."

Blinking furiously as if this is just a mirage, I sit on the couch, barely even touching the cushions. Cutting right to the chases, I say, "Madame President, may I ask why you are here?"

"As I'm sure you know by now, Miss Barker," Etta says, looking me dead in the eyes. "Shallow Shamir and Echo Shamir appear to be interchangeable names to a pair of twins from this district. Shallow Shamir was reaped for 150th Hunger Games, but Echo Shamir swapped places with him and went into the Games instead. This, of course, is against the law. Shallow Shamir—the real one—was Avoxed a few months back."

"I know all of this," I say. "It doesn't explain to me why you are here and why my family isn't."

"Ah, so you have noticed," Etta says thoughtfully. "You aren't quite as idiotic as I pegged you to be."

"I just want to know what you've done with my family."

"Oh, I had then executed," Etta says offhandedly, as if she is discussing the weather forecast or her favorite dessert.

"Exe…executed?" I repeat slowly, disbelieving.

"Yes, as punishment," Etta explains. "after all the fighting you did for Shallow Shamir, and of course, withholding knowledge from the Capitol."

"What… what are you talking about?" I splutter, although I have a sneaking suspicion.

"You knew all along," Etta says simply. "You knew that Shallow Shamir wasn't Shallow Shamir, and you never told anyone. This would normally be a crime punishable by death, but seeing as you are a Victor, and a Capitol favorite, that cannot be done. So we did the next best thing, and had your family executed."

"I was gone for thirty minutes," I say. "How could you have rounded up my family and killed them in that time?"

"Well, the father and the brother have been dead for a few hours now, ever since they left this morning," Etta says nonchalantly. Her tone is so careless, so apathetic, so lazy, it makes me want to punch her square in the nose. "The mother and the sister are being executed as we speak, and the friend is being corralled now."

"Davis?" I stammer. "You're going to kill… Davis?"

"Davis March, yes," Etta says lazily. "The talkative one."

I feel numb. Completely and totally numb. How could the president have done something like this? My entire family, my best friend, all dead? Because… because of _me_?

And I thought I was guilty enough before all of this.

 **A/N: Whew, so that happened. Will this story be finished by tonight? Most likely yes. Will Macy ever be happy? Who knows? I'm just kidding, I do know the answer.**

 **Anyways, has Macy's epilogue story been interesting so far?**

 **-Amanda**


	37. Epilogue 4 - Twenty-Three Candles

**A/N: And here it is, the final chapter of this story. This has been a whirlwind couple of months since I published this story, and I can't say I'm not happy with the result. Macy makes a wonderful Victor and addition to my universe, and all the characters I got to write were immensely fun. I want to say thanks to everyone who submitted to this story.**

 **Anyway, enjoy the final chapter of the Youngest Among Us!**

 **Chapter 35 – Twenty-Three Candles**

"Acacia, stop running so fast!"

"No way! It's a race! I'm not slowing down 'til I win!"

"Sequoia, Acacia, Cerise, slow down!" The yells of Macy and Sprucen Magnolia-Barker's young daughters and the sound of three little sets of feet hitting the hardwood floors echo through the house in the Victors' Village. It's the night before the Reaping for the 178th Hunger Games.

Macy glances at the clock above the fireplace, seeing how late it is, and she glances at her husband. Sprucen nods and runs after his daughters, trying to rein them in. Macy crosses the living room and sits in the armchair that Etta Snow, now long dead, had occupied all those years ago. After that, Macy didn't sit in the chair for over ten years, but left it there nonetheless, as a reminder of her mistakes. There are living reminders, too. She sees his face, every time she goes to mentor in the Capitol. He's much older now, of course, but still an Avox. Still paying for what his brother did, twenty-six years ago.

Finally, Sequoia, Acacia and Cerise quiet down and stop their running about. Macy walks into the kitchen and grabs the lighter from a drawer, designated solely for that object. The house has too much storage, even after all these years. Macy still doesn't know what she's supposed to put in a lot of cabinets. Still, she returns to her family, leading them out onto the porch.

"I don't want to light the candles," Sequoia complains. "What's the point? They just burnout."

Acacia glares at her sister. "You know how important the candles are to Mommy."

Cerise, the youngest of the three at just four-years-old, pipes up and says, "Yeah. Mommy wikes the candles."

Macy kneels down in front of her three, beautiful daughters and looks at Sequoia, "Sequoia, you know how important it is the honor the children who lost their lives in the Games." All three of her daughters knows, to some degree, what the Games are. Sequoia, the same age Macy was when she won, has seen her mother's Games and understands why she wakes up screaming some nights. Acacia, at seven-years-old, knows that people die in the Games, and that Mommy was apart of them. Cerise just likes to light the candles for Mommy's favorite people.

"I do," Sequoia says eventually. "…can I light the first one?"

This has been Macy's tradition since the very first Games she mentored in. Every year, on the night before the Reaping, Macy sets twenty-three candles out on her porch and lights them, one by one. No matter who the tribute was or what they did, they get a candle. Joba has one, and so does Avia. Macy's philosophy is that no matter what they did, they still died, and they deserve to be honored.

Sequoia lights Cornell's candle first. Macy remembers when she gave his grain crown back to his sister during the Victory Tour. She remembers how much the girl cried, but how profusely she thanked Macy. Macy remembers every detail from her Victory Tour perfectly. She wishes that she would forget, but whenever she finds herself thinking that, she looks at her wedding ring.

Sprucen proposed to her when they were both twenty-one. They'd met two years after Macy's victory, and Sprucen raised her from a depression she thought she'd never get out of. When he proposed to her, he had a quote inscribed on the ring: _It does no good to dwell on the past, but that does not give you the right to forget it_. They'd been lighting candles together ever since.

"Ooh, ooh, can I do the next one, Mommy?" Acacia begs. With a look at her husband, Macy hands her middle daughter the lighter, and she chooses to light Liana's candle. Around and around they go, slowly working their way through each candle until they reach Echo's which they always light last. This candle has two wicks, one for each Shamir brother. While Shallow may be alive, Macy feels the need to mourn what could have been his life if not for the Games. She mourns for every life lost because of the Games.

She looks at her little family, and Macy knows what all those other tributes had to sacrifice for her to have met her husband and for her three daughters to exist. She worries they will be reaped for the Games, as the Capitol loves to see the Victors' children's attempts at Victory. But she knows that Daniella was wrong all those years ago: Macy didn't fix herself. She never would have gotten out of that rut if it wasn't for Sprucen, and her life would never be as wonderful as it is without Sequoia, Acacia and Cerise. No, she didn't fix herself. Everyone else did.

…

The Quinnetons worked past Cash and Coin's deaths. After all, they already had a Victor in the family. What's the point of having more? While they generally forgot their youngest children, the twins' friends made sure they lived on. Alexandra and Richie stopped training for the Games, when they realized how it split families apart. They refused to watch the Games for the rest of their lives.

Wonder Hammerfort was never saved. By the time the Victory Tour rolled around and Macy could have done something about it, he was already dead. Wonder had nothing to live for. He was traumatized from everything he'd seen and everything he'd experienced, and the boy committed suicide three months after the conclusion of the Games. Wake's biological mother simply scoffed at her daughter's death. In her eyes, she was only good for something if she won.

The Cardiffs forgot about their son. He faded into nothingness, hardly even remembered by Macy. After all, who wants to say their son volunteered for the Games as a Career and died in the bloodbath, at the hands of a tribute from 12?

Alden Tammel spent the rest of his life in a depressive funk. He missed his daughter more than anything else in the world, and slowly turning to drinking to ease his pain. He became an alcoholic, just trying to forget. What he never realized is that he couldn't forget; the best he could do was remember Jaz when she was alive.

Freud Weiss never hired a new game tester. His company went bankrupt, as he simply stopped caring, stopped trying. He and his wife eventually got a divorce, as Violet Weiss wanted to live and Freud wanted to be with Bennett. He slowly wasted away until he died, while Violet remarried and had two more children, neither of which were taken by the Games.

Stella Winters volunteered for the Hunger Games at eighteen, determined to win for her sister. No matter how annoying Ariella was, the house was too empty without her presence in it, and Stella would do anything to get away, even if it meant joining her sister in death. Eventually, she did, dying the final two at the hands of the girl from 1.

Sereina Lepplings grows up with so many tales of her brother, it's like he never even died. She doesn't want her big brother Aqua to go into them either, but when the academy says you do something, you don't chicken out. Aqua brings honor back to the family when he returns from the Games as a Victor. In all the excitement surrounding him, Brookley sort of gets forgotten. Of course, Sereina never forgets the brother she knew for just ten months and can't even remember.

The Willodeans never got out of debt. Ant Willodean starved to death during the 151rd Hunger Games, quickly followed by his parents, leaving Corrin as the only remaining Willodean. He was reaped for the 152nd Hunger Games at sixteen-years-old and coming in ninth place. It's not like there was family left to interview, anyway.

Della Comaydos did her best to keep her brother's memory alive. But with the focus on her mother, who passed away a few years after Kiran's death and her father's rapidly declining health, Kiran got lost in the fray. Della remembered him in everything she did, trying to get Wyatt into the spirit, but he was too preoccupied. Still, Kiran Comaydos is never forgotten.

Ford Canters finds out six years after Tesla's death that his daughter died. All he can think is _good riddance_.

Nova marries another man, and has three children. The girl that Brandon Hughes spent so many years trying to impress, trying to get her to love him back, forgets about him. It was just one kiss, and he died. What's the point of remembering him? There are other people who can do that.

Shallow Shamir spent his entire life as an Avox. Usually, he served in the president's mansion, up until Snow's death and President Renius's ascension to office, simply so Etta could look at him and feel smug. Every year, when Macy would come to the Capitol to mentor her tributes, he would be assigned to serve on District 7's floor. He was a constant reminder of Macy's mistakes, and what could have been.

Once Bellow and Khalila Kasiani realized just how manipulated they had been by their daughter, she faded into obscurity, remembered by all but never missed.

Wade Thatcher starved to death a few weeks after Al's death. After all, what was the point of continuing? Al is gone. There's no point in existing anymore.

Nutmeg dies just a few months after Valentine's passing. Dasher finds no reason to keep feeding the cat of his dead sister, and Danner dies trying to protect her. Her mother runs until she can't anymore, and she too joins her daughter in death.

Rylina never gets over Cornell's death. While the rest of the Espenchs get on with their lives, Rylina lives in the past, wondering what she could have done to save her brother. Should she have made more grain crowns? She surrounded herself with them when he was alive. Should she have sent sponsor gifts? No, she didn't have the money for that. She never even realizes that there was nothing she could do.

Bull Phyronix moves on. He carries Lammy with him everywhere he goes, in the form of the little plush cow that she took into the arena, that he has washed hundreds, maybe thousands of times, and still can't get the bloodstains out of. He can't help but think about how close she was to coming home.

Rind and Sawyer eventually track down the laughing, rich man and kill him. They do it quick and in an alley in the middle of the night, and no one is the wiser. Still, they are convicted and sent prison for the rest of their lives. They may not be laughing, but at least that man isn't either.

Laiya Caffler figures it out. She knows where Nora went. She _did_ join Lark and Camellia, but she also joined twenty-two other twelve-year-olds, none of which deserved to die. She gets reaped for the 157th Hunger Games, and she comes home. Not alive, mind you—in a box, of course. Cary Caffler is heartbroken. She saves all these peoples' lives, but she can't save her nieces'. What do their parents think, as Avoxes in the Capitol?

Mr. and Mrs. Kohan are furious. They went through all this trouble to raise three children, and none of them even make it through to adulthood? Unbelievable.

Ms. Arla starves the winter following her daughter's death. With no one left to care about, she simply stopped fighting.

No one misses Joba Hatch.

 **A/N: And… that's it. The end. Of course, the 151** **st** **Games are happening. I've got an SYOT for that. Still, are you satisfied with Macy's ending? Does it provide closure? I hope it does.**

 **I can finally change this story's status to complete! Let's have a party.**

 **-Amanda**


End file.
